“Fuck her,” Pete said, blowing out a frustrated sigh and waving a hand over his shoulder at our waitress. “Regardless of Four Eyes, I’ll be eating.”
“What do you want?” Devon asked.
“Meat. But of the other variety,” Pete said, licking his lips in a crude gesture.
“I thought you were vegetarian,” I said, slow on the uptake before I grasped what Pete really meant. He looked at Devon, blew him an air kiss. He turned to me and smirked.
I squirmed in my seat, slightly unnerved, and taken aback by Pete’s brashness.
Suddenly, my mind was yanked back into the conversation at the touch of Devon’s hand on my thigh. My gaze fell across the table, trying hard to sidestep the sexual arousal pitching inside my shorts. Shocked, I reached for the small glass of ice water already in front of me, my hands shaking around its sweaty edges.