How to Date a Younger Man by Kendall Ryan

Author:Kendall Ryan [Ryan, Kendall]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kendall Ryan
Published: 2020-07-20T18:30:00+00:00

12

* * *

GRIFFIN

This bar is noisy as hell, but I can’t say that’s a bad thing. I have to lean down so Layne’s lips are brushing against my ear, just so I can hear her. And, fuck, if that isn’t fuel for every fantasy I keep returning to . . . you know the one. Of our naked bodies, finally entwined.

“You should really do therapy,” she yells before pulling another sip from the straw in her tequila sunrise.

Kristin and her new boyfriend are leaning over the bar, ordering their next round of drinks, while Layne and I kill some time at the old-fashioned jukebox. I lean against the metal and plastic along the side, browsing the songs for an oldie but goodie.

“What?” I ask, pretending not to hear her.

“You heard me,” she yells again.

The feel of her hot breath on my neck sends chills down my spine, straight to the growing tightness in my jeans. I close the space between us, so our faces are only inches apart. Her eyelids flutter at the proximity, and I meet her gaze with a smirk. I know I affect her, even if she pretends I don’t. Layne tries to pretend it didn’t, but something changed between us after that camping trip. It’s little things, like the way her gaze lingers on me too long, or how she pretends not to be affected when we’re standing close like this.

“What do you want to listen to?” I ask, tapping on the glass of the jukebox.

“You’re deflecting,” she says, but still leans over my arm to look at her options.

My fingers flex across the glass involuntarily as the fabric of her tight red dress brushes against my arm. “I like your dress. Did you learn that word from your therapist?” I ask her, my gaze wandering across her body.

Damn, dude. At least try to hide how hungry you are.

“No,” she says, turning to me with a laugh. “I know what deflecting means, thank you very much.” Her dark curls hang loosely on her shoulders, framing her breasts.

Impossibly, I drag my gaze up to hers. “Red is definitely your color.”

“It’s maroon, and I know.” She smiles at me shyly. Pulling at her purse, she removes a handful of quarters from its depths and slides them one by one into the coin slot.

I mentally kick myself for not paying for it myself. For being too busy soaking up how close we’re standing, how good she smells, how gracefully she moves . . .

“I felt inspired,” she says as she slides the last quarter into the machine, then pushes the buttons to make her selections.

“Because of therapy?” I ask.

“It was either wear the red dress, or accept my fate as a cat lady.”

“You don’t have any cats,” I say with a laugh.

“Not yet,” she says, pointing with a polished nail to punctuate her point.

I open my mouth to continue this dance that we’re so familiar with . . . the playful banter, the harmless flirting. But I press my lips together when the song starts playing over the speakers.

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