Gunsmoke » B. Hargrove

sixteen

"Shut up." Zara snapped, a fake smile plastering itself on her face as best she can when their waitress arrived with a curt smile. Her whole introduction was a blur, Zara's mind entirely elsewhere as the older lady listed off their specials.

She'd been reminiscing on the way his fingers felt inside of her when Billy cleared his throat loudly, his foot nudging her from under the table. "You gonna order, pretty girl?"

"Right," Zara handed over the menu, reciting her order the same way she had every single time she'd entered the diner. "—just a strawberry milkshake with extra whipped cream and a side of those little cherries please."

"That's all you want?"

Zara nodded waving off the woman concern. "Had a big breakfast earlier."

The waitress only lingered a moment more, her pen scribbling the remainder of their order into her notes before she'd disappeared off to another table to repeat the same spiel.

Billy sat comfortably on his side of the booth, one arm resting against the back with his legs spread wide. His free hand ran through his messy curls, tucking a few sandy locks behind a pierced ear. "You gonna ignore me for the rest of our date?"

Zara scoffed, kicking off her shoes under the table and planting her bare feet in his open lap; her clean pedicure peeking over the edge of the table if you looked hard enough. "I won't ignore you if you at least make yourself somewhat useful."

"You're not as nice as people say." He says matter of factly, his warm hands gravitating to her twiddling toes and within a few moments he's rubbing her feet like some simp—his dad would smack the spit from his mouth if he'd seen him right now. "Thought you were supposed to be some sweetheart not a fucking brat."

Two waters appeared before them, a pair of straws placed on the table without a word. "Oh, bite me."

Billy's fingers dug into the planes of her feet, soothing out stress and even sinking into his own desires of trailing his fingers around her ankles—pretty little feet that'll eventually be dangling on his shoulders. Blue eyes trailed a little further under the table, eating up the length of her legs and the exposed swell of her bottom that hung from her skimpy little skirt.

"I could," He doesn't miss a beat, not even when he's visibly distracted by how soft Zara Sinclair was—endless planes of perfect copper skin exposed and pliant to his exploratory touches. "If you're into that sort of thing."

A glint if something sinister flashed in Zara's warm brown eyes, her lips stretching into a smirk as her toes escaped from his hands and pressed deftly onto the crotch of his jeans. "I am, but I'm starting to realize that maybe you don't deserve that from me."

"Oh?" His eyes are focused on the feet slowly dragging against his growing erection, his heart rate speeding up as the waitress appeared with a plate of steaming food and a milkshake that's significantly larger than Billy had anticipated.

He didn't even give two fucks about the possibility of peering eyes; some random guy possibly eye-fucking one off from across the room as Zara jerked him off through the denim with nothing but her bare feet. Billy's posture remained the same as the waitress settled the plate before them, her eyes catching onto a flash of pink and once she realized what was going on beneath the table, her face goes flush. "A-Anything else I can get for you?"