Reluctant Mate

Chapter 19

  He smiled. “You were his date?”

  “Yes. Nicole and I geeked over it for like a week after it happened.”

  He chuckled. “Girls,” he murmured.

  My nose wrinkled at him, but I proceeded to take my turn, missing a pin that, even with my second turn, was left standing.

  While he stepped up next, I retreated back to the tall, circular table where our drinks sat. I watched his sculpted muscles work beneath his shirt and the flexing art of his arm when he swung the ball back and launched it forward. I was so infatuated that I missed his score and was caught drooling over him as he turned back around. Blushing, my eyes fell to my drink, but not before his lips tilted up at the corners, revealing that he was aware of my gawking eyes.

  He sauntered to the table and then asked his rightfully deserved question, according to the scoreboard. “How many boys have you dated?” 

  “Three,” I reluctantly replied, with my chin sitting atop my tented hands. “How about you?” 

  “I’ve been with four women,” he surprisingly offered. 

  I noted his careful choice of words. “Been with?”

  “Yeah.” His eyes never wavered from mine, no doubt to witness my reaction.

  “Like…that?” I finally asked, feeling awkward that I couldn't just say the words I meant.

  “Like that,” he confirmed, the corner of his mouth slightly turning up. 

  Peeling my gaze from his, I took a sip from my straw and then wordlessly disappeared down to the lane.

  Like a hawk intent on his prey, his scorching stare on my backside resembled that. Torturous and deliciously agonizing. It felt like he watched me and my every move just to learn the secret pieces of me that were meant for only his eyes.

  It felt both incredible and sensual.  

  Intimate.

  I struggled to focus on the task at hand while also battling the blush creeping up my neck. He was intense, and rattled me. It had me fighting between wanting his eyes on me or giving me some privacy.

  Thankfully, the strike I worked too hard for was successful, but as I turned to celebrate, he was surprisingly already there, catching me in his large arms for a smothering hug. His hands traveled from the small of my back to my waist, gripping tight and pulling me against him as his head dipped to kiss me once, slowly.

  “Good job,” he congratulated in a whisper.

  “Thanks.” The action made asking him a question impossible—at least until I steadied myself from his open display of affection. 

  Something, I guess on my part, required growing accustomed to because I had an accepting feeling it was the new normal in my life. It was how it would always be with him: a touch, a kiss, a dirty thought spoken out loud, making me blush, all done naturally and unthinkingly even in public—just the way Alex was. And I liked that. Even wished to be sure enough of myself to mirror his actions. 

  But there was something more tugging at my brain with that eager behavior. An odd feeling of familiarity that wasn’t a stranger to me. It felt like he couldn’t help himself; an untamed beast in need of his hands on me in some way or another at nearly all times. It wasn’t at all a bad thing, but it was a cloudy detail that was too relatable for someone who had never personally experienced it before.

  With another kiss to the forehead this time, he released me. “Okay, enough fooling around. It's time to beat that nice ass of yours,” he joked.

  I waited and watched until he finished his first roll of the ball, resulting in him hitting only eight pins again. On his second try, he knocked down the nine pin, leaving the ten pin standing alone.