He bites the inside of his cheek, crushing a smile, and then he flicks his tongue over his lip. He lets his cigarette rest in the ashtray as he peels off his jacket.
My eyes fall on him.
A slim-fit T-shirt clings to his torso, his jeans hugging his hips and package.
He rests his elbow on the counter while shoving the other hand into his pocket. Leaning back, he crosses his legs, his bulge pushing against his fly.
I get tense and hot.
Instantly, I get annoyed.
“I don’t strip for you. My shirt is soaked,” I say.
“Yeah... Mm-hmm. Sure, babe.”
Throwing him a glare, I open the door to the washer room and throw my shirt into a hamper.
His eyes brighten with a wolfish smile.
“So what happened with your fuck date?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
He thrusts his pecs out, snagging my gaze. An insolent grin stretches across his lips.
“The man couldn’t deliver?” he suggests, not really asking.
I stop in front of him, itching to slap the smile off his face.
Gripping my hips, I clench my jaw, trying to contain my fury.
“It had nothing to do with him.”
“No?”
He tosses me a cheeky smile.
Frustrated, I throw my hands up in the air and walk around the counter.
“You want something to drink?” I ask.
He sways his head from side to side.
I open a cabinet and pull out a bottle and a glass.
“I thought you were a wine girl,” he says as I fill the glass with ice and as much scotch as I can cram in.
I toss it back and slam the glass on the counter.
“You don’t know much about me,” I say, wincing as the alcohol burns its way down my throat.
His eyes twinkle with mischief.
“You need to get laid so badly,” he says.
Lowering my eyes, I start washing my glass.
“Why are you here, Jaden?” I ask brashly, shooting him a glance.
His gaze lifts slowly from my breasts.