Jessa James - The Baby Mission

“And two shots of tequila,” I say. “Don’t even pretend that you don’t want it. You’re getting the shot.”

Her brow arches, but she doesn’t disagree. “Fine.”

The bartender pours the two shots, and hands me the limes. I slide the shot glass over to her, and raise mine.

“What should we toast to?” she asks.

“To having a good night,” I say, clicking my glass to hers. I shoot the liquor, which burns, but tastes so good. The lime takes the edge off, tasting sweetly sour after the tequila.

“Jesus,” she says, shuttering as she bites down on her slice of lime. “I haven’t shot tequila since college.”

I wink at her, tucking the used lime wedge in my shot glass. “Come on, let’s go over to the edge of the roof. I like to get a different perspective whenever I can.”

I lead the way, and she follows me to the edge, which has been roped off with metal bars. I look over, and I’m treated to a view of a busy downtown Atlanta street corner from eight stories up. Although it’s late at night, there’s still a good amount of traffic, giving me the impression of a sea of red tail lights.

Cady stops beside me, leaning over to peer down. I glance at her ass, which happens to look pretty damned fantastic right now, encased in the sheath of her pencil skirt.

“Everything is so small when I’m up here,” she sighs.

“I think that’s the tequila talking,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows.

She glances at me. “Yeah right.”

She turns away from the view, leaning her elbows over the topmost metal bar. I mimic her position, and notice that I’m half a foot taller than her. It’s a lot less than the height difference on the girls I’m used to dating, but still pleasing.

She sneaks a glance at me, then sips her drink.

“What do you do?” she asks.

“I’m a sports agent,” I say. “But I used to be a professional baseball player.”

Her eyebrows fly skyward. “Really?”

“Yep. I was a center fielder for the Atlanta Braves for three years.”

“Why don’t you still play for them?” she asks, cocking her head to one side.

I make a face. “I tore my rotator cuff. The team doctor took one look at my shoulder and said I needed surgery. That was pretty much it, as far as my career went.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry,” she says, eyeing my shoulders. I can feel that calculation again, her steely grey eyes scanning me as they try to do some kind of math.

“It’s fine. I get to do something I love, so I can’t really be upset about it.” I take a sip of my whiskey, and enjoy the burn as I swallow. “What do you do again?”

“I’m a lawyer. A civil litigator, to be exact. I work for Hansen & Felder.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about the law.”

“We’re one of the top firms in the city,” she says primly.

“That sounds fancy,” I tease. She looks at me and chuckles.

“Yeah. It’s not very romantic,” she admits. Her phone starts buzzing in her purse, very insistent. “Ugh, like this. It’s ten-thirty on a Friday night, and I’m still getting phone calls.”

“Tell them you went to bed early. You were feeling a little ill, and wanted to head it off.” I raise my brows. “That way you’re covered tomorrow, too.”

Again, I can tell that she wants to take my advice, but a part of her hesitates.

“Oh, I don’t know…” Cady says, wrinkling her nose.

“You know what you need?” I ask.

“Ummm, to actually go to bed early?”

“No, I think you need to dance.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Jett—” she says. Her body language is all kinds of reticent.

“This doesn’t bode well for our relationship, Cady,” I tease. “Come on, just one dance.”

She makes a face at me, but allows me to take her glass from her and put it down. I take her hand in mine, noticing how dainty it seems, and lead her to an area where there are a number of people dancing.

Cady is stiff at first, her face saying “I can think of ten things I’d rather be doing than this.” She moves as if she’s carved from wood, and barely touches me.

That won’t do at all.

I gently turn her around, bring her body against mine. The music pulses, and we move with it. Slowly at first, then more frenetic, until she’s all but grinding on me.

Fuck yes , I think. God, she feels good .

Cady surprises me by turning around, slipping her arms around my neck, and kissing me. I’m a little caught off guard at first, but her lips are soft and sweet. Inviting.

The sensation goes straight to my cock, and I am fucking rock hard in an instant.

I take over the kiss, dominating her lips, snaking my tongue against hers. She tastes fucking amazing, like fresh mint and vodka. I could drink from her lips all night long.

She pulls back, practically panting. “Do you want to go back to my place? I don’t live far.”

Oh, fuck yes . I really, really do.

Only Mason is suddenly in my head, ruining everything. It’s too easy to just go home with a girl and never see her again .

I stare down at her, still tasting her on my lips. It would be great to take her up on her offer, to just go to her place and fuck her until the sun rose. But something about her won’t let me do that.

Is this what being a gentleman is like? I wonder.

“You know, there is nothing I would like better than to take you home, make you scream my name over and over till you’re hoarse,” I whisper, leaning in close. “I don’t think that would be good for our relationship, though. I can’t take you home, we haven’t even had our first date.”

She immediately turns red as a beet. “I… I… I should go…”

Cady takes her phone out of her purse, turning away. My arm shoots out and I grab her, pulling her back.

“You’re not leaving without my number,” I say. “Don’t even try.”

I pluck her phone from her hand, ignoring the open-mouthed look she’s directing at me. It’s the work of a few seconds to put my name and number in, and then I call myself. My phone starts blaring “Swimming Pools” by Kendrick Lamar, and I wink at her.

“I have your number now,” I taunt her. I hand her phone back.

“Ugh, good bye ,” she says, turning away again.

I can’t resist the chance to grab her and spin her back against me, to press my hips against her and claim her mouth once more. Her fingernails dig into my chest, but I can tell she likes a little dominance.

I release her, my fingers itching to slap her on the ass. That pencil skirt is practically begging for it, honestly.

“Now you can leave,” I say with a grin.

I wish I had a photo of her expression, of the outrage mixed with carnal interest. Outrage won, and she sneered, turning on her heel. I watched her flee, as fast as she could on those tall high heels.

I crack my knuckles, thinking that I should’ve just taken her home, Mason be damned.

I move towards the exit, adjusting my bulge in my pants, and look around. Mason and Alex are nowhere to be found. How typical .

I take the stairs slowly, and think of Cady. Her red sweater, her pencil skirt, her high heels.

Yeah, women are pretty much all the same… But at least someone has caught my interest.

I smile as I head downstairs.

I open my eyes and groan. It’s not just the morning, it’s full on sunshine city in my room right now. Milo, my stray-turned-cuddle-fiend, purrs and rubs his chin against my fingers.

“Fuuuuuuck,” I say, rolling over. Milo looks at me with pure judgment in his one remaining blue eye. The other one has long since been stitched up, and healed over. He’s a Siamese mix, and snobby as hell for someone who I rescued from a dumpster outside my house.