playing with fire... if i burn, you do || owldog || @mickeyfiitz
Daddy. That was the word that smacked her in the face, the one she stared at with dark eyes long after its owner had sauntered away leaving Athena Gañero with a fucking pulse writhing in her guts, heating her through. One glass of whiskey... hell, FIVE glasses of whiskey couldn’t do this to her... but one short dance later, and she felt her insides go all to shit. If I try to stand, and my legs are jelly, I’m never going to forgive myself.
It hadn’t even been focused on her! It couldn’t have been less about her than if she’d been absent from the bachelorette party all together. He’d danced with all the women, spun his special charm on all of them, so why did Athena still feel so fucking special? Why am I still having trouble catching my breath?
Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes found her outside the dressing room as the night wound down, waiting for him to come out, waiting ( pathetically, her mind screamed ) with a scrap of gray cloth in her hands. Her eyes were inscrutable, and she couldn’t even get a read on her own emotions. Irritation and anger at him for presuming so much [ or making her feel in such a way]? Arousal for obvious reasons? The sneaking thread of flattered pleasure that she was the one with the article of clothing in her hands? Disappointment because that was all he’d really taken off? Fuck emotions. Stupid fucking heart.
This was why she was a headcase, why she thought everything through, so she would never have to feel so off-kilter! But if anyone was naturally gifted at knocking her off her axis, it was Mickey Fucking Fitz.
The door opened without her expecting it, and she blinked at him for a moment as if into a bright light. The uncertainty of what she was doing there appearing on her face for a moment, and the urge to turn and run made the soles of her feet itch. But the moment was gone in a flash, and she shot him her signature half-smile, half-smirk, her eyes still dark. “I think you dropped something, Magic Mike.”