I cross and uncross my legs. Somehow, I manage to spread my knees a little wider. It's only an inch. Maybe two. But with my panties in his pocket, that's more than enough to feel dirty.
My eyes meet his.
I swallow hard.
"This isn't a race." He looks down at me. His fingers skim my knee then his hand is back at his sides. "We have all night."
I nod.
My fingers tap against my quads.
Fuck, how can I be this nervous three drinks in. Or is it two? Or four? I'm already forgetting.
Mercifully, the cocktail waitress arrives with our drinks. I practically pounce on my gin and tonic. It's crisp, bubbly, strong. I down the whole thing in three sips.
My head swims.
My throat burns.
But the tension in my shoulders is melting.
The nerves in my stomach are settling.
I can do this.
Joel looks at me curiously. "I like you, Bella. You're charming."
"Weird?"
"Different." He matches my speed, downing half his scotch in one swig. "Fuck, scotch is not meant to be drunk this fast."
"You don't seem like a scotch guy."
"Usually, I drink beer. But the beer here is shit." He downs another half, well, a quarter of the original drink, with his next swig. "And if you're drinking hard liquor…"
"You're a gentleman."
He laughs. "You could say that."
The song shifts from some generic wub-wub club music to a remix of Poker Face by Lady Gaga. I can't help but shift my chest. My hips.
My dress presses against my ass. My sex. Fuck, this not wearing panties thing opens me up to a whole lot of sensation.
Alcohol has my inhibitions falling quickly. I let my eyes flutter closed as I shift my hips in time with the music.
The friction of my dress feels good.
Pleasure pools in my belly.
In my thighs.
Joel's fingers brush against my knee again. His glass clinks as he drops it on the table.
He leans in to whisper, "You want to dance."
It's not really a question. I nod anyway.
He takes my hand and pulls me out of the booth. We cut through the crowd until we find a spot in the middle of the fray.