Page 12 of Bad Ball Hitter
That smirk of his widens. “Yes, you do.”
I hold his gaze, refusing to be the first to break eye contact. Kaplan has been my customer for the past three years and has not flirted with me once. I’ve dropped the same hints to him as I did to Drake, but he never bit. My annoyance flares, overriding any desire trying to flicker to life. Why is he flirting with me when I finally find someone interested in more than a fling?
“Guess I’ll be seeing you around,” I say.
When I slide in beside Drake, he leans over and whispers, “You know Kaplan?”
I wave him off. “He’s a client.”
Drake’s jaw ticks, but he says nothing. I grab the drink and take a big swig. I have a feeling it will take a shit ton of alcohol to douse the flames inside me.
A couple of hours later, I got my wish. I’m officially drunk. But those flames? They never burned out.
The guys are on the dance floor looking for their next conquest while Drake leaves for the bathroom. I’m sitting here alone, feeling pretty good.
“You having fun?”
When I meet Kaplan’s piercing blue eyes, my heart practically stops. Oh, how I wish he hadn’t affected me so much. “Always. I didn’t expect to run into you here.”
Kaplan chuckles, his eyes never leaving mine. “I could say the same about you. I had no idea you were friends with the new guy.” He leans closer, his cologne invading my senses—a spicy, expensive scent that makes my head spin. “Dance with me?”
“You know I can’t,” I say, but there’s a teasing lilt to my voice. My heart races, and I hate myself for how this man makes me want to drag him to my bed. Every. Single. Time.
“Just one dance, Miranda,” he implores, his gaze flickering with something dangerous … something enticing.
“I … I shouldn’t.” I give a quick shake of my head, attempting to keep my resolve steady, but my voice comes out raspy. I barely get the words out as my body screams to accept his offer.
“Can’t or won’t?” Kaplan tilts his head, his lips curving in an infuriating smirk.
“Maybe a bit of both,” I flirt back, my own smile teasing at the corner of my lips. “Besides, what would Drake think?”
Kaplan’s eyes gleam with mischief. “Does it matter what he thinks?” He steps even closer, our bodies almost touching. “Come on, Miranda. Live a little.”
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “You always know how to get under my skin, Kaplan.”
His hand brushes against my arm, sending a jolt of electricity through me. As much chemistry as Drake and I have, it doesn’t match this. “And you love it,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate.
“Maybe I do,” I admit, my eyes locking with his. “But you never gave us a chance.”
Kaplan leans in, his breath hot against my ear. “Who says I won’t?” His lips barely graze my earlobe, and my insides catch fire.
Before I can respond, Drake’s deep voice cuts through the air like a razor.
“I leave for a minute, and Kaplan swoops in to steal my girl?” His voice has a hint of a joke, but he can’t hide the undercurrent of tension.
He loops an arm around my waist and pulls me closer, his body cagey and rigid.
Kaplan laughs lightly—too lightly—his eyes flicking between us. “Just catching up with an old friend.” He raises his drink in a mock salute before turning to leave.
Drake watches him go before looking down at me, his gaze intense and probing.
“What the hell was that, Miranda?” Drake’s voice is low, barely audible over the pounding music. “Do you always flirt with other men like that when I’m not around?”
Indignation flares within me, hot and sharp. I jerk out of Drake’s grasp, my temper rising to match his. “Excuse me? I wasn’t flirting with anyone. Kaplan is a client, nothing more.”
Drake scoffs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Could’ve fooled me. The way he was looking at you…”
“He’s just a client. He means nothing to me.” Panic rises inside me. I have to sell this lie. I can’t let a little flirting come between us. Not when the flirting is wasted on a man who does nothing with it. “I’m sorry, babe. You know how I get. But I promise I only have you on my mind.”