Wingman

Prologue

I'm so fucking tired of this shit.

We are locked in a stare down, both of us breathing heavy. It's so loud that I feel like it's battle to think over the sounds. We are close enough that our breath is mingling in the air. Smoke and whiskey on my breath, mint and vanilla on hers. It's intoxicating and makes me clench my jaw tight.

Adrenaline is coursing through my body and I am physically shaking with rage and emotions I can't deal with. My heart pumps furiously in my chest, it's painful and causes my heartbeat to be audible in my ears.

My hands are clenched so tight I can feel my fingernails digging into my palms. Her arms are crossed over her chest and I can see her nails are doing the same to her biceps. Her breasts are pushed up from the pressure of her arms, her black V-neck T-shirt exposing the top seam of her blue bra. I cling to my rage to help me be unaffected by them.

Her eyes are ablaze and I'm sure she's burning me to ash in her head. I want to tear my gaze away as it's like I can feel the burn but I'm too far gone and too stubborn to lose. And damn it if she isn't the same damn way. Both of us wickedly competitive even in moments like this, a dangerous game we keep playing. We don't know how to stop, can't stop, won't stop.

We've said it all and now just each stare at the other waiting to see who will fold first.

She shifts slightly, rebalancing herself from her left foot to her right. She maintains my gaze but I see a slight flicker of something unknown in her eyes. She bites her lip and in can see the way her teeth have scraped off the vanilla lipgloss I know she's wearing. It takes every ounce of control I have to not avert my eyes to her lips, but my body betrays me and I find myself darting out my tongue, licking my lips, wetting them in response to her.

She breaks, flicking her eyes to my lips and back to my eyes. It's just barely a second but it's enough to inject a flood of testosterone and dopamine into my veins. Mixing with the adrenaline and I'm ready to lose my fucking mind. My body is a war zone inside, battling between Rage and Lust.

Why the fuck did we let shit like this be our foreplay? It was all fun and games before. We lived for this shit. Before London. Before him.