The Steakhouse, Part 2

Tingles pulse in waves, heightening every nerve in my body. They dance up my spine, wrapping themselves around each vertebra until they reach my hairline at the top of my neck. I stare at his full lips, lips that look like they were expertly molded to give the most perfect kisses and deliver the naughtiest promises. They curve slightly, a teasing smirk, daring me to acknowledge him.

Why would I? We don't know each other. We're not friends.

I avert my gaze to the menu beside me and pluck it from its holder. Opening it, I pull it up to cover my burning face and buy myself a few seconds to catch my breath. What are the odds of him being here at the same time I am? Please, for the love of God, don't let him come over here.

I barely manage to control my racing heart when two long, thick fingers curl around the top of the menu. Oh, no. Blood drains from my face and pools in the deep pit of my stomach as the thick menu card is pulled from my hands.

"Olivia," he says in a voice so sinfully rough it vibrates all my sensitive parts.

I wish he wouldn't say my name like that, like he enjoys the way it feels on his tongue. I drag my stare up his well-fitted dark, navy jeans and a blue hoodie. It's unzipped, resting against his hard torso, exposing a strip of his bare, delicious midsection. I swallow hard, but my mouth is dry. I force my gaze from his sculpted stomach to his devastatingly handsome face. His hoodie is pulled over his head, framing his strong jaw and covering his disheveled black hair. My fingers twitch with the urge to push it off and run my fingers through his locks, squeezing it in my fists until he gasps against my heated skin.

Our stares lock and his hooded, dark eyes flare, a satisfied smirk playing on his gorgeous lips. A toothpick hangs from his mouth and I've never wanted to be an inanimate object so bad in my life. Now I completely understand the motive behind Selena's punching bag and bucket comment…

…which is highly disturbing.

"Hello, stranger from the gym," I say, proud of the amount of confidence I manage to force into my voice.

Simpering, he tosses the menu on the table and slides into the booth across from me. I open my mouth to tell him it's taken, but I purse my lips. I don't think he'd care. He strikes me as the type who's used to getting what he wants.

"Seth," he states, pulling the toothpick from between his lips. "My name is Seth."

He pushes Selena's plate of fries out of the way as I lean to the side, peering around his large body to meet Selena's amused, green stare. She smiles widely, and I scowl before turning my attention back to Seth. He watches me—intently—with the same gleam in his eyes that undid me in the gym this morning, and he drums his index finger against the surface of the table.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The core of my being pulsates every time he makes contact and I squeeze my thighs together. This is unbearable. I drag a deep inhale through my nose to control myself, but every pulse drives me closer to the realization that my attraction to Blade pales in comparison to the fire Seth ignites in my blood. I don't know how he's doing it. I don't know how I feel his eyes penetrating my clothes, licking me everywhere.

"Is there something you want?" I ask, my voice a shamefully quiet and shaky mess.

"Yes." He angles his head to the side, carefully studying me, studying my hands. I don't realize I'm fiddling nervously until his curious gaze lands on them. "But I'm not sure you can handle it."

I move my hands to my lap, hiding them underneath the table. What could I have that he wants? Definitely not sex. He can get that from any woman—women much more beautiful than me.

Dissatisfied by my silence, Seth exhales and leans back against the seat, his eyebrows twitching downward, the beginnings of a frown. "Is this where you work?"

A subtle pang of disappointment zips through my chest as he abandons his previous train of conversation.

I blow amused air between my lips. "A steakhouse? In this dress? No. I'm here for lunch with my friend."

I flick my chin toward Selena who sits with Seth's friends in their booth, but he doesn't turn to look. He keeps his attention on me—only on me—then brushes his leg against mine, sending a tidal wave of electricity through me. I sit straighter in my seat as a hot flush surges up my neck. Before it can reach my cheeks, images of the brunette from the gym earlier flash to the forefront of my mind. The hurt and irritation in her voice when she found us in each other's personal space, me consumed by his arresting magnetism…

Heat drains from my body with the ice-cold realization that the man in front of me has a girlfriend. Having just broken up with a cheating bastard yesterday, there's no way I'm going to entertain one today. I move my leg away and Seth hums, pleasure flaring in the deep depths of his eyes.

"If I didn't know better, Olivia, I'd say you're repulsed by me."

Repulsed? By him? Is that even possible?

"I'm not repulsed," I say, then take a beat to think carefully about my reply. "I'm just not that kind of girl."

He pushes the hoodie off his head, exposing his sexy, dark hair, and sits forward, resting his elbows on the table. "And what kind of girl is that?"

"The kind who flirts with a guy who has a girlfriend…"

Seth lifts his eyebrows, then smiles a full smile that exposes his perfect, white teeth.

"What?" I ask, and he lets out a rich, gruff laugh as he leans back against the booth, his hoodie tightening as he folds his arms across his broad chest.

"Who?"

"Who? The pretty brunette with the big—" I do this weird cupping gesture with my hands a few inches in front of my own breasts. "Boobs."

He glances at my chest. "She's not my girlfriend."

I scoff. That's a lie. I saw the way she wrapped her arms around him, the way he hugged her back. I glance out the window to the parking lot, wondering how much time Blade spent convincing other women he was single. I owe the brunette the benefit of the doubt, don't I? Seth must've did something, or said something, to make her feel like she has a claim over him.

"I don't do girlfriends," he adds. "The woman with the big…" He mimics my gesture in front of his chest with a gentle smirk. "Is no exception."

"You don't do girlfriends." Strangely, the words deflate a balloon in my chest as I drag my gaze back to him. "You're single?"

He shrugs, placing his toothpick between his teeth. "I prefer the term free."

Free. I like the sound of that. He bites down on the tiny sliver of wood and my frown dissolves.

"I'm glad we cleared the girlfriend issue up." He leans his leg against mine and subtly flicks the toothpick across his plump bottom lip, his tongue barely seen behind his supple lips. "What do we do now?"

The tone of his voice implies so many things—so many hot, naughty, dirty things. Things I want to do with him. Things other women would pay a lot of money to do with him.

I watch him, completely disarmed, as he sits before me with his broad shoulders and a snippet of his chest tattoo sticking out from underneath his blue hoodie. It dawns on me then, that I've never engaged in casual sex. Blade has been my only partner, my only experience. Judging by the brunette I saw this morning, Seth is used to being seduced—and fucked­—by these powerful, sexy women who know what they're doing. What do I know? Nothing.

Seth drops his stare to my lips and the playful glimmer that burned bright in his irises moments ago has disappeared, swallowed up by a burning fire. I shiver and open my mouth, ready to comply with whatever he wants…

…until Selena clears her throat beside me, bringing me back down to earth. Licking his lips in frustration, Seth cuts his eyes at Selena, pinning her with a dark glare. I swallow hard, shift on my seat, and gently tug on the collar of my dress, trying to let some heat out. Even if Seth is free, I'm still not the kind of girl who has sex with someone I barely know.

I turn my attention to Selena whose chest rises and falls with shallow breath.

"O," she says, turning her watery green eyes on me. Her demeanor is drastically different than it was fifteen minutes ago and there's a deep, pink flush in her cheeks. Hair prickles on the back of my neck and it rips me from Seth's spell, sobering me completely. "Can we go?"

"O-of course." I shuffle toward the edge of the booth, then glance at Seth. Irritation wafts from him in waves and it's shooting, like daggers, toward Selena. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye? Nah. I'll see you around."

All I manage in response is a swift nod and a small smile as Selena takes my elbow and pulls me out of my seat and away from the booth, toward the front door. As we walk, I feel Seth's eyes on me—watching me, appraising me—but I don't dare glance over my shoulder in fear of confirming my thoughts. That man is bad news.

Bad, bad news.

Before we exit the steakhouse, Selena flips off the group of men she previously sat with and they roar with laughter. I frown, confused, as she drags me outside and down the front steps. I inhale deeply, clearing my foggy brain as warm wind blows against my cheeks.

"What happened?" I ask, pushing my palm over my hair until I reach my bun.

"Nothing," she snaps, her long, blond waves whipping around her head. "They're all gross."

She marches to my car, stands at the passenger door, and folds her arms tight across her chest.

"Gross?" I eye her curiously while I approach the driver's side door, fishing my car keys out of my deep dress pocket. "Why are they gross?"

"They thought I was a prostitute." Oh. "They wanted to pay for blowjobs in the bathroom." Selena scowls at me and leans forward, glaring over the roof of my car, pinching the strap of her pink dress. "What kind of steakhouse prostitute wears in-season Gucci? And limited-edition Eden Heel pumps?"

"A well-paid one?"

"Do you know how much damage a dirty, bathroom floor could do to these?"

The way her eyebrows pull together, forming a small wrinkle on the bridge of her nose makes me erupt with laughter.

"It's not funny," she groans, scowling at the steakhouse.

"I know. I'm sorry." I swallow as much of my amusement as I can until my laughter fizzles out. "They're all assholes."

The wind blows another soft, blonde curl into her face and she swipes at it.

"Can you unlock the damn car? I want to get out of h—crap!" Selena drops her face into her hands. "Idiot!"

"What?"

She murmurs unintelligibly.

"What?" I repeat, angling my head as if it'll help me hear better. "What are you saying? I can't hear you."

Selena lifts her head, her lips down turned in a bratty pout. "I left my handbag inside."

I pull back. "Go and get it."

"Hell no! I'm not going back in there."

And she expects me to? God, no. Talking to those men was her idea, not mine. This wouldn't have happened if she kept it in her pants and showed me a little loyalty. "Neither am I."

Selena tips her head. Her big, green eyes hold a pleading gleam and she presses her palms together. I roll my eyes. I've seen this routine a million times before. It might work on her father, but it doesn't work on me.

"Please, Olivia! Please don't make me go back in there. I'm embarrassed enough as it is. If you do this for me, we don't have to go clubbing tonight. We can stay home and—"

I'm marching toward the steakhouse before she can finish her sentence. I'd do anything to get out of clubbing. My heart thrashes against my ribs and I catch my trembling lower lip between my teeth as I climb the steps of the steakhouse again. I try not to think about it, about the group of men who may have Selena's bag, and push the door open. The bell above me jingles and I swallow my unease, slipping into a mask of indifference. I allow myself one deep, uneven breath before lifting my gaze off the floor.

Various sets of eyes flicker to me, but the only pair I see are the brown ones with tiny rivers of honey that branch throughout them. My mouth dries instantly, and I hate myself for it. Seth leans against the back of his booth, Selena's handbag tucked nicely under his arm, his hands stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans. I part my lips and let out a subtle rush of air. My heart doesn't slow down in its thrashing, made worse by the fact I have no idea what he's thinking as he watches me. Regardless, I force myself forward and hold my hand out for my best friend's bag. He glances at my palm with a smirk—it's more of a corner lip twitch, but I still want to suck it off his face.

I clear my throat, my desire to get out of clubbing winning against the bubbling urge to shove his giant body to the ground and kiss him all over. "Can I have my friend's handbag, please?"

Surprisingly, he hands it to me without a word and I take it, then turn quickly on my heel and head for the door.

"Hey, you!"

Damn. I stop, letting out a slow exhale and turn, forcing my politest smile even though thick tendrils of dread burrow through my chest. The guy who called out, the one with a lousy, thin mustache and stitches along his eyebrow, smiles at me.

"Tell Selma we'll pay her extra if she comes back in." His smile morphs into a wolfish grin. "And I'll pay double if those full, pink lips of yours want to participate."

Selma? I grimace.

"Show some fucking respect," Seth demands in a low and aggressive voice, startling me.

Mustache-face's grin is swallowed up by a sneer and he turns his head toward the bar. Pig. His friend, the one sitting on his left, with the insane number of tattoos, shakes his head, unimpressed. I peer at Seth and offer him a small smile as thanks, then I shove the door open and storm from the steakhouse.