Then he kissed me.
Unfortunately, the kiss didn’t last very long.
After a loud crash on the table, the next thing I felt was something spilling down my shirt. We pulled apart almost instantly.
“Damn,” I muttered, jumping to my feet. “You spilled my milkshake.”
“I can see your bra.”
“i***t,” I growled before grabbing a handful of napkins and trying to clean myself off.
When Easton noticed the attention my wet shirt was getting from a table of guys nearby, he stood up and dropped a twenty-dollar bill onto the table.
“Let’s go.”
“Huh? But we haven’t finished talking yet.”
He grabbed my arm and practically dragged me out of the café.
“What’s your prob—?”
I didn’t even get to finish the question.
Easton crushed his mouth against mine and kissed me with a desperation that startled me
