Something Like Hate - Harloe Rae Page 0,53

circles?”

My composure cracks when I gawk at him. How far is he planning to take this little ruse? I’ve hit my threshold for sitting idly by while he spins some elaborate farce at my expense. Testing his limits is fair game. It just depends on how far I’m willing to go.

I wouldn’t consider crossing this line if he hadn’t already propositioned me on several occasions. Do I dare? That’s not even a question. It’s just my hand, and maybe a shoe if I want to get creative. I can sanitize the infected parts later.

When my palm lands on his thigh, Landon lurches upward, crashing his knee into the table. Our drinks rattle, but thankfully don’t tip. My friends exchange a glance. I wiggle my brows at them before addressing Landon’s reaction.

“Problem?” I blink in rapid succession while sliding my hand higher.

“What are you doing?” The question grinds out from behind his clenching teeth.

“Is my point not clear enough for you?” I tighten my hold on his leg, squeezing him in a sultry vise.

He flexes beneath my touch. “You really wanna go there?”

A few millimeters separate my pinky and his family jewels. Backing down isn’t an option. “We’re well on the way. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Will you ladies excuse us?” His grip is already fastened around my upper arm.

My friends nod. Clea goes so far as to make a shooing motion. “By all means, go blow off some steam.”

“Thanks for the moral support,” I grumble as Landon tugs me from the booth.

Clea delivers a humble farewell from her seat, firmly planted in the safe zone. “You’ll thank me later.”

Somehow, I highly doubt that.

This bar is swanky enough to include several hidden spots for when the mood strikes. Or a certain woman drives a guy to the brink, and they don’t want to hash it out with an audience present. Whatever the reason, there are spaces available.

A darkened alcove cut into the far wall catches my attention. I guide Vannah with a palm notched at her lower back, although she follows willingly enough. She matches my long stride with her own fast pace, stiletto heels clicking along the tile floor. Perhaps she’s just as eager to release the tension balloon between us.

The hallway is quiet, narrow, and secluded enough for my liking. After passing the restrooms, I steer her to a far corner to give us more privacy. I release my hold and step away. Gaining a moment’s peace with her against me is an impossible feat. A single second to regain control is all I need. But no, she can’t even grant me that small token. Vannah crosses her arms while propping along the wall, no doubt waiting for me to get my shit together.

You and me both, sugar.

The fog in my brain won’t relent. She invades my senses without remorse like a bad habit I can’t seem to kick. I can’t even breathe freely without her cloying at me. Being this close to her is fucking with my mind. A few feet separate us, but her flowery scent still assaults me. The air is less toxic after another calculated retreat. That mere foot might as well be a mile for the freedom it gives me.

Regardless of the turmoil coursing through me, my glare hasn’t strayed from hers. “What the hell was that?”

Vannah lifts her chin, defiance sparking bright as ever in her eyes. “It was my turn to deliver the shock value.”

“That’s a steep incline.”

She winks like the saucy seductress she’s portraying. “I figured you’d appreciate a care package.”

If only it came without stipulations sopping in vengeance. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

A shrug greets my crackling hostility. “Do you have a better term?”

“Strutting a razor-thin line,” I offer.

“It’s a strategic move to prove my point.” Her left shoe crosses the right, as if she’s demonstrating.

I raise a brow. “That you’re finally ready to fuck?”

She cringes, but a blush stains her freckled cheeks. “I’m not scared to push boundaries, Lannie.”

I clench my empty hands into tight fists against the detrimental urge, waging an internal battle. Her touch set fire to my veins in a way I’ve never experienced. The last thing I need is to get hooked on her.

“By fondling my balls?” The harsh accusation should boom louder.

She sniffs, taking a lazy perusal down my rigid stance. Her gaze pauses at the bulge behind my zipper. A sizzle from her palm still burns just below there. “I didn’t get that far.”

“Are you upset that I stopped you?” It felt like a

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