Read Online Survival of the Fiercest by Chloe Blaque - Free Book Online
Authors: Chloe Blaque
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the couch?”
“You took advantage of me,” he says. “You knew what you were doing when you put on those glasses.”
“Excuse me?” I frown. “You are insinuating that my very functional reading glasses were a ploy for your attention?”
“Those glasses scream hot for teacher. It’s a fantasy for most, if not all, men.”
“As in that ’80s song?” Taking my glasses from my purse, I slip them on and fluff my hair. Then I turn to him with a coquettish look. “Like when the teacher comes out in a bikini and strips on top of her desk? This is one of your fantasies?”
“Yeah,” he says, causing his dimple to appear.
I shake out my hair. “Is this making you feel hot? Should I dance on the bench?”
“Please do.”
“Have you had sex with a teacher?”
“Is this off the record?”
“No,” I joke.
“I plead the fifth,” he says with a light in his eyes.
“You have,” I accuse. “You’ve probably screwed all your teachers.”
“What?” He feigns offense.
“Off the record. Be honest. Are you a man-ho?”
“No.” He says it like I’m crazy.
“Who was the Spanish girl that called you a pendejo?”
He lets out a sigh and hangs his head. “My date for the night. A friend set us up.” He shrugs. “But I was also working, and she got angry that I wasn’t paying more attention to her. She stormed out. But she came back”—he leans in—“or so I thought.”
“Very interesting,” I say in my professor voice. We are distracted by kids playing a few feet away, and I put my glasses in my purse.
“Done?” he asks, his chin jerking toward the coffee cup cradled in my lap.
Evan walks our cups to the trashcan a few feet away, and I feel free to eyeball him. He has a smooth, powerful gait that accentuates what could only be described as swag . A few scantily clad joggers notice too, their heads turning on their way past. I roll my eyes. He has swag—in spades.
I feign a sudden interest in the birds nearby when he turns toward me. The bench dips momentarily when he sits a little closer to me. My pulse jumps.
“Now what?” he asks.
“Well, I am going to jump on a cable car and just see where it takes me.”
“How about an air-conditioned Mercedes?”
I mask my excitement with a cool frown. “Don’t you have plans today?”
He leans forward, his eyes clear blue and his hair slightly mussed from the breeze. “My plans are later, and I’d like to enjoy a sun-filled afternoon before I start adopting vampire hours.”
It’s a sweet gesture but out of place as we are virtual strangers. I wonder if he is just doing this so I don’t write the article. Before I know it, he is on his feet, holding his hand out to help me up. He puts his hand gently on my back as we walk, and my mind races to the 10 Signs He’s Interested post that I’d seen on a competing website. Number six was: He leads you by the arm or with his hand at the small of your back . Apparently it’s a way to mark your territory to other men. The idea of being marked as his territory gives me a secret thrill.
We walk through Japantown, where Evan’s hand finds my back several more times, drive to Fisherman’s Wharf for a walk along the bay, and continue on to see the architectural beauty of the civic center.
But my mind is blown when he shows me the graffiti art and colorful murals that adorn the streets of the Mission District. Hispanic music wafts into the streets from restaurants, and I bask in the creative warmth of my surroundings. Evan does too, I notice. He leads us down alleyways that are a little scary but eventually open into courtyards that hold larger-than-life artistry.
“How do you know about this?” I ask as we slip through another dark alley.
“Josie Vasquez grew up here. She, Jared, and I would run these streets as teenagers. We were all friends back in the day.” He grins fondly. “She and I dated for a year or so in high school, but it wasn’t serious. Then college came for Jared,
“You took advantage of me,” he says. “You knew what you were doing when you put on those glasses.”
“Excuse me?” I frown. “You are insinuating that my very functional reading glasses were a ploy for your attention?”
“Those glasses scream hot for teacher. It’s a fantasy for most, if not all, men.”
“As in that ’80s song?” Taking my glasses from my purse, I slip them on and fluff my hair. Then I turn to him with a coquettish look. “Like when the teacher comes out in a bikini and strips on top of her desk? This is one of your fantasies?”
“Yeah,” he says, causing his dimple to appear.
I shake out my hair. “Is this making you feel hot? Should I dance on the bench?”
“Please do.”
“Have you had sex with a teacher?”
“Is this off the record?”
“No,” I joke.
“I plead the fifth,” he says with a light in his eyes.
“You have,” I accuse. “You’ve probably screwed all your teachers.”
“What?” He feigns offense.
“Off the record. Be honest. Are you a man-ho?”
“No.” He says it like I’m crazy.
“Who was the Spanish girl that called you a pendejo?”
He lets out a sigh and hangs his head. “My date for the night. A friend set us up.” He shrugs. “But I was also working, and she got angry that I wasn’t paying more attention to her. She stormed out. But she came back”—he leans in—“or so I thought.”
“Very interesting,” I say in my professor voice. We are distracted by kids playing a few feet away, and I put my glasses in my purse.
“Done?” he asks, his chin jerking toward the coffee cup cradled in my lap.
Evan walks our cups to the trashcan a few feet away, and I feel free to eyeball him. He has a smooth, powerful gait that accentuates what could only be described as swag . A few scantily clad joggers notice too, their heads turning on their way past. I roll my eyes. He has swag—in spades.
I feign a sudden interest in the birds nearby when he turns toward me. The bench dips momentarily when he sits a little closer to me. My pulse jumps.
“Now what?” he asks.
“Well, I am going to jump on a cable car and just see where it takes me.”
“How about an air-conditioned Mercedes?”
I mask my excitement with a cool frown. “Don’t you have plans today?”
He leans forward, his eyes clear blue and his hair slightly mussed from the breeze. “My plans are later, and I’d like to enjoy a sun-filled afternoon before I start adopting vampire hours.”
It’s a sweet gesture but out of place as we are virtual strangers. I wonder if he is just doing this so I don’t write the article. Before I know it, he is on his feet, holding his hand out to help me up. He puts his hand gently on my back as we walk, and my mind races to the 10 Signs He’s Interested post that I’d seen on a competing website. Number six was: He leads you by the arm or with his hand at the small of your back . Apparently it’s a way to mark your territory to other men. The idea of being marked as his territory gives me a secret thrill.
We walk through Japantown, where Evan’s hand finds my back several more times, drive to Fisherman’s Wharf for a walk along the bay, and continue on to see the architectural beauty of the civic center.
But my mind is blown when he shows me the graffiti art and colorful murals that adorn the streets of the Mission District. Hispanic music wafts into the streets from restaurants, and I bask in the creative warmth of my surroundings. Evan does too, I notice. He leads us down alleyways that are a little scary but eventually open into courtyards that hold larger-than-life artistry.
“How do you know about this?” I ask as we slip through another dark alley.
“Josie Vasquez grew up here. She, Jared, and I would run these streets as teenagers. We were all friends back in the day.” He grins fondly. “She and I dated for a year or so in high school, but it wasn’t serious. Then college came for Jared,
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