Floored - Karla Sorensen Page 0,8

it against me. We'd take our places where we sat earlier and probably engage in some heavy, harmless flirting until I left to catch my train back to Oxford. I'd never see him again, but I'd go home with a story about the night I wished I indulged a bit. I'd go back to my small flat, get in bed alone, and I'd wonder what would have happened if I'd stayed for an extra drink.

The strap of my purse bit into my skin where I clutched it in my fingers. On one hand, I was not a sleep with a guy I'd met that night kind of girl. No judgment, I had friends back in Washington who were that type. More power to them and all that. It just wasn't me.

Partially because I'd never met anyone who'd made me want to sleep with them on the night I met them.

And Jude just about had me panting on that stool, whispering naughty soccer things in my ear. Want wasn't the problem.

If I left, if I took the out, I'd regret it.

I'd wonder. I'd wish. And I'd lament the fact that I didn't take a chance and learn how a man like him kissed. And just about more than anything, I hated feeling like I'd missed out.

"What the hell, right?" I whispered.

I shoved the jacket back into my purse and took a deep breath before I left the tiny room.

His back was to me when I cleared the doorway, and Lord, his frame was glorious. Tall and broad with strong shoulders and slim hips. His hands were big where they held the whiskey bottle, his arms roped with muscle and a few tattoos that I couldn't make out.

"Sounds perfect."

For a moment, he froze, like he hadn't expected me to say that. But when he turned, a pleased grin covered his stupid-handsome face.

"It may be a rubbish drink." Setting the whiskey down, he crouched in front of one of the boxes on the floor. "I have ginger ale and soda water, both room temp."

When I grimaced, he laughed.

"I know," he said. "It's a tragedy, to be sure."

"Ginger ale, I guess."

Jude went to work, fixing two rubbish drinks while I wandered the space and trailed my hand along a small bar cart lined with bottles in all shapes and sizes.

Opposite of the boxes was a daybed, and I smiled at the sight of it.

"A thing for beds then too?" he asked. This question had his voice pitched lower, and the suggestiveness was obvious.

"I wanted a bed like that when I was younger." The comforter was basic blue and white stripes and adorned by a simple white pillow. But the frame, an ornate white and gold metal, was straight out of my ten-year-old fantasy.

"And your parents didn't oblige? The horror," he teased.

I sighed. It didn't feel like the kind of night when you said things like, well, my dad was a shit ton older than my mom, he died of a heart attack when I was little, she freaked out and decided being a single mom wasn't her jam so she bolted, leaving us in the custody of my older half-brother.

"I shared a room with my twin sister until we were fourteen, so bunk beds were pretty much a done deal."

He hummed, bracing one of those broad shoulders on the wall. His dark eyes tracked me as I continued exploring. "Twins, eh?"

I gave him a warning look. "If you make a dirty joke right now, I'm out of here."

"I wouldn't dream of it." He held out a lowball glass.

Approaching slowly, I realized that Jude had hardly moved since I changed my shirt. He'd let me move toward him, at my pace, in my time.

Our fingers brushed when I took the drink, and it caused the slightest lift of his chin, a slow inhale expanding his chest.

"The picture in there." I tilted my head toward the space where I changed. "That your brother?"

Jude lifted his dark eyebrows briefly. "It is. I forgot that was in there."

"He doesn't look much younger than you."

"Only about two years between me and Lewis," he answered. No other offer of information, but I suppose that wasn't the point of this little exchange. If all we wanted to do was talk, we could've carried our asses back downstairs.

"You were wearing a soccer jersey," I accused. "No wonder you got so touchy."

The smile that spread over his face after I said that could only be described as predatory. Anticipatory.

Yet again ... my thighs