however because Summer stopped, pivoted in the guy’s direction, and stared him down.
“Did you want to grow a set and say that to my face?” She leaned an inch closer, and the coward actually backed up. “Before you answer, I’m obligated by law to warn you that I have an S-class Tai Kwan Kiki Dee belt.”
Arnie came dangerously close to laughing his ass off. He was the one who was usually cast in the role of jokester. The way she silenced the candy-ass shithead with made-up taunts was impressive.
When the loudmouth guy didn’t move or make a sound, she mumbled, “Uh-huh,” then dismissed the moron and snapped her fingers an inch or two away from Arnie’s nose. “Your mistress needs a drink.” Then she whirled round and stomped away in her sexy boots and tight jeans.
The implication that he was her slave boy nearly put him on the floor. He wished like crazy King and Jon were here to witness the fuckery. He’d never had more fun.
Chuckling, he caught the guy’s gaze, and drawled, “Excuse me. Mistress gets angry if she has to ask twice.”
Quickly targeting Summer’s sweet rear view, he followed behind and took enormous delight in watching her tight-assed strut. The boots really were a nice touch.
Not one to miss out on a chance for playtime, Arnie hurried to her side so he could hold her chair as she sat. Like the golden queen of all she surveyed, sexy Summer planted her butt on the edge of the seat, crossed her legs, and sat ramrod straight. Her body language was a surprising turn-on. So was his certainty she was making shit up as she went along and really had no idea how to pull off a dominatrix vibe.
God, she was fucking a-dorable.
He leaned over her with his hands gripping the back of her chair, and murmured, “Does Mistress still want a drink?”
Her shoulders shook slightly, and he shifted sideways to look at her face. She was biting her bottom lip and trying to hold in a laughing snort. When she recovered slightly and gave her hair a hand flip, she accidentally smacked him on the nose.
“I’ll have another cosmo. Oh, and a soda chaser.”
Please say Coke, please say Coke, he mentally chanted.
“Diet Coke. Only Diet Coke,” she bitingly emphasized. “Do not make the mistake of bringing me a Pepsi.”
Two things happened as the words came out of her mouth. First was the realization his low-rise cotton briefs were no match for what being around Summer did to his dick. And second was a blinding flash sent from the future to wake him up in the present. A vision of Summer holding a bottle of classic Coke many years from now, still beautiful, still golden, and still gigging as she performed a toast he couldn’t make out while.
He didn’t need to hit the pause button to know the universe was telling him something.
Arnie smirked. “I have it on good authority sipping anything other than a Coca-Cola product is tantamount to gargling with Satan’s jizz.”
She boomed with laughter and pushed back in the chair so hard she might have tipped over if he hadn’t been holding on. Her hand pounded on the table as the giggles shook her body.
“Satan’s … jizz,” she choked out between snorts of laughter. “What the hell is wrong with you? Bwah ha ha!”
Without thinking it through, his grin faded, and he put a hand on her throat. She went still and looked up at him. He hesitated for half a heartbeat and then bent to place a soft kiss on her lips.
“I’ll just be a minute,” he murmured against her mouth as they separated.
“Th-thank you,” she stammered breathlessly.
His grin returned, cockier than before. “Whatever pleases you, Mistress.”
Her face flushed a gorgeous shade of embarrassed red. “I’m going to regret starting the whole mistress thing, aren’t I?”
He tapped her nose with his finger and laughed. “Count on it.”
On the stage, a big dude stood clutching a microphone stand while crooning a Taylor Swift ballad called “New Year’s Day.” The incongruity of his burly appearance, coupled with the soft, feminine performance, captivated the audience.
While at the bar, he kept his body facing the table where Summer sat by herself. If anyone was stupid enough to approach her, he wasn’t sure he could avoid causing a scene. The powerful pull of possessiveness he experienced had a stripped down, primal quality. He wasn’t messing around. Something about her triggered him in very basic ways. Primitive ways.