"Are you anything but?" Alisha scoffed.
He waved off her statement dismissively. "You need to get laid. I'm beyond tired of you being extra bitchy lately." He studied his fingernails, mentally making a note to get a manicure after work because his cuticles were out of control. "Big looks like he could screw the bitchy right out of you." His lips turned up and his lifted his eyes to hers, arching a perfectly manscaped brow. "So, make him bag it and have fun."
Alisha's cheeks flamed crimson as she gawped at her friend. Clearly, he was a few fries short of a Happy Meal.
"Have you lost your mind, Russell?" Maggie snapped. "Did you forget that Big is the kind of guy who likes to nail sluts in crowded bar bathrooms?"
"Then it's a good thing that Alisha's limber." Glancing at the clock on the wall, he smiled. "Ooh, I've got to run. Adam is taking me to lunch. Tata!" he called, wiggling his fingers.
"Don't listen to him," Maggie said, turning quickly when Russell flounced out of the office. Her tone and crazed expression were just shy of horrified.
"I'm not," Alisha insisted, even though she had been thinking about it this week. A lot. Especially since Wednesday when he'd nearly kissed the life out of her. If he could get her going like that with just one kiss, then…it was foolish, but really, they were just thoughts, so she didn't see the harm. "Let's change the subject. How are you and James?"
Maggie's eyes went soft and the smile on her face could only be termed dreamy as she opened her mouth and gushed about her boyfriend and the romantic date he took her on the other night.
Saturday night finally rolled around and once again Big found himself backstage at a gig, tuning his guitar and waiting on Alisha Larrington to show up. But unlike the last time where he'd wanted her to show, this time he needed her to. They all did.
She was really fucking late.
He had brief moment of panic where he wondered if this was some sort of elaborate payback and that she hadn't really forgiven him, and this was her way of making him look like a complete douchetard in front of everyone. But then he remembered the look on her face after he'd kissed her senseless in the snow and knew better. Oh, she'd show up alright, he thought smugly. But she needed to and fast because they were due to start playing the reunion in ten minutes.
He was just about to pick up his phone to see what in the holy fuck was taking her so long when she rushed through the door, her dark hair bouncing around the shoulders of her red coat. "Jesus Christ, Shorty—cuttin' it kind of close don't you think?" he bit out gruffly, the muscles in his jaw twitching. He pushed to his feet and grabbed his guitar.
She ignored the tone; she was really late after all. "Sorry," she said breathlessly, tossing her bag onto a table, "technical difficulties at the theater today, so the show ran late." Popping open the buttons on her coat, she peeled it off and threw it over a chair. The nice part about feeling so rushed was that she didn't have the luxury of time to feel awkward or nervous from seeing him again AK…after kiss. She'd deal with that later. Rooting through her bag, she pulled out her lip gloss and compact mirror, deftly slicking gloss over her full lips.
Big turned to retort with something snarky, but the words died in his throat when his eyes got a load of her. Dark jeans slung low over her hips and the black tuxedo vest she wore fit like a glove and hit just past midriff, leaving an expanse of bare, golden skin visible to his roaming eyes. His fingers itched to skim over it. Tall black boots spanned to her knees and as she turned, he caught a glimpse of a red lace bra peeking out at the top of the vest behind a few open buttons. Her hair was full and wavy, and she'd done something different to her eyes that enhanced the gypsy-like quality. The entire look was sex kitten meets rock 'n roll and he was on the verge of physically drooling. "Fuck me," he muttered, feeling the heat churn in his gut, his blood heading south to wake up his favorite appendage.
"Did you say something?" Alisha asked, pulling the pink tambourine from her bag.
He smirked and stepped closer, wanting a better look at her. She whirled around, her hair whipping him in the face and sending clouds of expensive fragrance up his nose. She smelled as exotic as she looked tonight, and it was mouthwateringly intoxicating. Color bloomed prettily on her cheeks and he grinned, letting his eyes slowly rake over her. "Yeah, I said fuck me, you look hot," he rasped.
His words were crude, but her pulse hammered erratically against her ribs regardless. She forced herself to remain calm as she stared up into his eyes (mossy green and amused…like a mood ring his eyes were) and respond the way he would—she smirked. "Thank you."
Chuckling softly, he smirked at her unexpected choice of words. He gave her another onceover (seriously, she was insanely hot tonight) and shook his head slightly. When his eyes finally lifted to hers again, he noticed that she was approaching annoyed, which only made him grin more.
"You done now? Your leering is bordering on creepy," she told him, her lips twitching upward, completely undermining her words.
"It's your fault for looking so damn good, Larrington," he smiled crookedly, leaning in closer. He reached out and brushed his calloused fingertips slowly down her bare arm, satisfied when he felt the goose bumps break out over her heated skin.
Alisha fought the shiver off tooth and nail, determined to not give him the upper hand. Inside, though, her blood began to hum. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked tartly,
