Bad Cruz(49)

When Cruz still didn’t get it, I dragged my hand up his knee, my little finger skimming his inner thigh. I hoped the rest of him was as hard as his leg. I chanced a glance at him.

He was frowning at something Dalton said and added, “They also have one of the worst pass protection units in the NFL, so that’s not saying much.”

My little finger almost got to his crotch, and finally—finally—Cruz’s left hand snaked under the table, too. Instead of stopping my hand, he placed his directly on the edge of my dress where the fabric met my skin.

A shot of pleasure ran through my spine at the contact on my sensitive flesh.

He pressed an ice cube on my inner knee.

Whoop.

“Two can play this game,” he muttered under his breath, pretending to be engrossed in Dalton’s football chat.

“Game on,” I uttered through a close-lipped smile directed at Jocelyn, who was now contemplating removing excess labial skin from her vag after she and Dalton had their third and final child, which she was planning on having next year.

I knew depressingly too much about their sex lives.

And shape of their nipples.

“…could be a smokescreen for Roberts. But if he makes this move, I think we’ll be in good shape,” Cruz continued conversing with Dalton, as his hand hiked up my inner thigh with the ice cube, which was literally melting against my sizzling skin.

My pinkie brushed his package through his jeans.

He was hard, fully loaded and ready to go.

Now if I could just figure out how far I wanted to take this.

“Better to stay put than trade down,” Cruz replied to something Dalton said as his cock pushed back on my pinkie.

He pretended to rearrange himself on his seat while giving a little hip-thrust into my touch.

Boy, oh boy.

This was happening.

The ice cube continued its journey between my legs, almost resting on my panties. I let out a soft moan. It was such a nice touch, not to move my panties aside and tease me by pressing it against the fabric.

In other (related) news, I was never going to make eye contact with this man ever again.

“Tennessee? Are you with me?” Jocelyn snapped her fingers in front of my face.

Holy fug, what now? “Huh?” Did she want to know if I needed some of her extra labia skin for my butt enhancement?

“I asked if you know the mysterious ex who made Cruz swear off Fairhope back when he was in med school.”

“Uhm.” I cleared my throat, shifting in my seat to gain more friction against my clit. “Can’t recall. Did he ever describe her?”

“I don’t know. Honey, did he?” Jocelyn elbowed her husband.

Dalton’s eyes shot straight to my girls—I swear, the guy was a first-grade sleazeball—and he shrugged.

“I don’t remember, it was so long ago. And Cruz and I moved in different circles. But lemme see…”

Cruz slipped what remained of the ice cube through the side of my panties, letting it melt against my slit, and holy sh…

“Blonde, I think he said. Brown eyes? No. No. Hazel. Long legs. Said she was a horrible human being. Zero tact when it came to affairs of the heart. She had a weird name,” Dalton recited. “Lessy? Noriana?”

Wait a minute…

Cruz chose that moment to toss my hand away from his crotch, get up, and finish the remainder of his beer.

“All right, buddy, it was good seeing you. I’ll settle the bill at the bar. Send Joyce my regards.”

“She’s right here,” Dalton faltered. “And it’s…”

“Yes. Of course she is.” Cruz began pulling me out of my stool, not even bothering to listen to the rest of it. “Nice meeting you, Joyce. You’re utterly unforgettable.”

Unfortunately, I was both hammered and enjoying the sensation of the tip of an ice cube teasing my clit, which resulted in my stumbling all over my feet like a baby deer, giggling uncontrollably.

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s go.”

Cruz grabbed my hand and practically raced through the casino toward the exit, throwing a wad of cash at the bartender on his way out.

I tried to keep up with him, panting. So many things went through my head. But the most pressing issue was…

“Why on earth did you tell your friends at med school we were a couple?”

It was me he’d described.

I knew.

And I thought Dalton and Jocelyn knew it, too, because they kept looking at me like a puzzle they had to put together. The woman behind the conundrum.

It hadn’t been about them being swingers. Well, maybe not all about them being swingers—they’d stared at me trying to connect dots, not our genitals.

Maybe both? Pluck no.

And it had only just hit me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’ve been cockteasing me all evening and it’s high time we do something about it. Where’re the elevators?” Cruz muttered. He was lit like a Roman candle, looking left and right frantically while holding onto my hand like I had immediate plans to disappear.

We passed by Brendan and a group of middle-aged guys who cackled on their way into the casino in a uniform of Hawaiian shirts and beer bellies.

“Lookie, here. Today they are lovebirds,” Brendan whistled as he strolled past us. “Tomorrow, who knows?”