Midnight Muse

It doesn’t help.

“What are you getting?” I ask, leaning into Knox and peering down at his menu. It’s the exact same as mine, but I have a feeling he’s only pretending to look at it for my sake. I’m sure that he and Slate have already known what they wanted since they found me in the drawing room.

“Blueberry waffles and a vanilla shake,” he answers, and I carefully fold my lips between my teeth as I’m reminded of his contact name in my phone.

I should really change that one of these days.

Knox’s green eyes firm with a knowing look. “What are you trying not to grin about, Princess?”

I shrug nonchalantly, straightening myself and hiding my smug smile behind my menu. “Nothing.”

Knox hums like he doesn’t believe me, nudging me with his shoulder. “Tell me.”

“No,” I almost squeal. I can’t contain my grin now, shoving him back. “It’s too embarrassing.”

“More embarrassing than the way Slate is going to be panting over the waitress when she comes over here?” Knox asks, and I immediately turn my attention towards the counter, scouring the restaurant for whoever he’s talking about. I’ve never known Slate to pant after any woman. They usually fall into his lap without complaint.

“Shut up, dick,” Slate bites, eyes widening in warning. His body goes rigid, and he transforms from sitting tall, shoulders straight and broad, to shrinking in on himself, ducking his head and slouching in tight.

There’s a waitress behind the bar, but she’s looks older. Much older than us. She’s chatting with the two men at the bar and it looks as if the three of them have been friends for ages. It’s a little too dark to make out her features, but her dark hair is pinned at the back of her head, pencil jammed in the twist to keep it from falling.

“That one?” I question, nodding my head to show the direction of the woman I’m talking about. After all of these months of enduring Slate’s teasing, it’s finally time to take my shot. “I didn’t know you liked them older, Slate.”

He rolls his eyes, but Slate’s always been better at dishing out jabs. The tension eases from his shoulders as he jibes, “I love them older, Quinnie.” He winks and I wrinkle my nose in distaste.

I’m about to retort with some lame comment, but Ace and Rory are greeting us and I’m being guided further into the circular booth by Knox’s hand at the small of my back to make room for the two of them.

When everyone’s settled, I smile. It’s a snug fit for the five of us, but the proximity to my friends helps draw me completely away from the feelings of undeniable imposter syndrome I was experiencing earlier. Looking around the table at each one of them, I feel warm, I feel whole.

Ace and Slate easily pick up conversation while Rory looks over her menu. Knox leans back into me, his voice gravelly and low. “Why were you laughing at my waffles?”

I huff a chuckle at him that chokes off into something more like a hum of pleasure when his large hand settles on my thigh, squeezing gently. His hand isn’t just anywhere on my thigh, though, the tips of his fingers are curling into the soft skin between them, his pinky brushing the seam where the fabric of my pants is cinched over my crotch.

Warmth pools between my legs as if he’s Pavloved my pussy into thinking that the simplest touch from him means an orgasm. I swallow hard, shooting him a look that he chooses to ignore in favor of tapping he menu on the table like he’s deciding between two items. We’re trapped in the middle of the bench seat, our friends flanking our sides. If Knox takes this too far, there’s nowhere for me to go. I’ll have to endure his torturous touches until someone lets me up.

Clamping my hand over his doesn’t stop Knox from brushing his fingers across my leg. I press them tightly together, but all it does is trap Knox’s hand there. I don’t even have to look at him to know that my boyfriend is smirking.

Douchewaffle.

“Your name in my phone might have something to do with waffles,” I say, and my voice sounds breathy. Luckily, Ace and Slate are fully engrossed in explaining all of the best items on the menu to Rory. “I thought it was funny.”

Knox’s brows furrow. “What’s my name in your phone?”

I shake my head, refusing to answer when he squeezes the meat of my thigh.

I almost melt into him right there.

Heat creeps into my cheeks, and I’m thankful that the lighting is low because I know they’re painted bright red. “Douchewaffle. Your name in my phone is Douchewaffle.”

“Douchewaffle? Really?” Knox asks, quirking an unimpressed brow.

I can’t help but to giggle in response, which it only earns me another teasing pinch that has my nipples perking up beneath my shirt and my breath hitching in my chest.

With the way that Knox is looking down at me, eyes sparkling with a devilish delight, he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

“What?” I ask, as innocently as I can muster when he’s making me feel so scandalous. “Do you think I should add a heart or something?”

He doesn’t take the bait, instead, leaning even closer to me. His breath caresses my ear, every stroke of his hand driving me closer and closer to swinging my leg over his lap and straddling him right here in the booth with all of our friends.