I’m across the room and at the bar in a few quick strides, grabbing a glass of wine along the way. I lean my back against the bar as she faces the counter. Soon, the bartender hands her a red drink in a mason jar. When she lets out a soft moan as she takes a sip, my mind flashes to her underneath me, moaning for a completely different reason. I will my body to remain calm, but it seems to have a mind of its own tonight.
“Are you even old enough to drink?” I ask, finally breaking the silence. She turns her head to look at me as I look down and almost drown in her brown eyes.
“Are you a cop?” she asks. She sticks out her tongue and licks a bead of moisture from her bottom lip. The gesture is fast, and I’d bet my last dollar she did it subconsciously, but my body didn’t get the memo. Those damn pouty lips with the bottom just a little bit wider and plumper than the top. Images of her underneath me, my mouth on hers while she breathes and moans into my mine as I pull her bottom lip between my teeth play through my mind.
“Hardly, but it’s my party and I have to make sure we’re not serving anyone who’s underage.” And I need to find out exactly how old you are, but I don’t tell her that.
“So, you’re a party monitor then? Or maybe a party pooper? I bet you’re the type who hands out apples or toothbrushes to the kids on Halloween.”
Unable to help myself, I laugh. I don’t tell her that on Halloween, I keep my lights off. I’m not going to be responsible for pumping children full of sugar and processed foods. Something tells me she would not approve.
“More of an observer.”
“Observer?” she asks, pretending to mull over the word. “Sounds more like control freak, but I promise you, Mr. Bain, I’m of age. You are not providing alcohol to any underage minors. Have been legally allowed to drink in this country for two years now.” To prove her point, she finishes her drink and orders another one. Then she does the craziest thing. She smiles at me as she playfully bats her eyelashes, not realizing for a second that she’s playing with fire.
Jesus, she’s fucking young. Thirteen years younger than I am. I have no business here. I should walk away and go back to my uncle. I can mingle with our guests and forget all about Miranda Moore, who’s too damn young for a jaded asshole like me, but I don’t do any of that.
There’s a secret part of me that’s relieved to find that she’s not only of age, but that she’s no longer a teenager. When I walked over here, all I cared about was that she was over eighteen. Twenty-three is a pleasant surprise.
“Two whole years above the drinking age, huh? You’re practically a senior citizen.”
She copies my stance and turns to face the room as she leans against the bar. When she puts the straw between her lips, my dirty mind flashes to something else between her lips. Maybe while I’m standing over her in the shower, or while she explores my body underneath my down comforter.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Bain,” she says after sipping. She reaches into her purse, and as she politely thanks the bartender for her drink, she shoves a few dollars in the tip jar.
“From whom?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“I think you know.” She smirks. “You’re often the main topic of conversation around the dinner table. For a while, I thought you were the villain in the Batman movie.”
I let out a loud laugh. She laughs too, revealing her straight teeth.
“That’s Bane,” I tell her and spell the word out. “It’s spelled differently than my name—Bain.”
“Pity. And you look nothing like Tom Hardy.” She does her best to appear bored with our conversation, but I can tell by the sly glances she keeps giving me she’s anything but bored.
“Is he your type?” I press.
“Nah,” she says, snorting into the drink. She puts the jar down and turns her body toward mine. I do the same, putting us face-to-face. “He doesn’t exactly do it for me, if you get my meaning. He lacks a certain something.” She turns back to the bar, ignoring me.
“Oh, yeah? What’s he lacking? What is it that Miranda Moore has to have that Tom Hardy is missing?”
Instead of walking away, I take a step closer to her. She stills, not even so much as taking a breath.
“Look at me, Mr. Bain.”
“I haven’t been able to stop looking at you since I saw you standing outside of this room, Miranda. But what is it that you want me to see?” I make a point of looking over her entire body before landing on her face. She’s as still as a statue when I get to her eyes.
