Chapter 115
**Sara**
Jessica swayed her hips so exaggeratedly that I was half unconvinced she would dislocate something. Each step was a carefully choreographed performance, her stilettos clicking-clacking against the pavement in a rhythm that screamed, "Look at me!"
I snorted. "Is she auditioning for a role in a B-movie or something?"
Tom chuckled beside me, his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. "I'm not sure I want to know what kind of movie that would be."
Jessica paused at the building's entrance, turning to blow us an exaggerated kiss. Her attempt at a sultry wink looked more like she had something stuck in her eye.
"Goodnight, you two!" she called out, her voice carrying down the quiet street. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
I groaned, sinking lower in my seat. "That doesn't rule out much, Jess."
She waggled her eyebrows suggestively before disappearing into the building with a final, hip-swinging flourish.
As soon as the door closed behind her, I burst into laughter. "Oh my god, what was that?"
"I believe that was Jessica's impression of a femme fatale. Or possibly a jellyfish having a seizure. It's hard to tell."
Did you see her walk? I thought she was going to fall over!"
"I was more concerned about the structural integrity of her dress," Tom quipped. "I'm pretty sure it wasn't designed to withstand that level of... movement."
"Oh, come on," I said, still chuckling. "Jessica's not that bad. She just gets a bit... extra sometimes. You should see her when she's trying to impress a guy at a bar. It's like watching a peacock on roller skates."
Tom raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'll take your word for it. I think I've seen enough of Jessica's... talents for one evening."
He started the car, and we pulled away from the curb. As we drove, I suddenly wanted to address the elephant in the room. Or rather, the footsie under the table.
I reached over and swatted his arm playfully. "And what was that footsie business during dinner, mister? I thought we were trying to keep things under wraps."
"I have no idea what you're talking about. I was merely stretching my legs."
"Stretching your legs? All the way to my thigh?" I scoffed. "I'm pretty sure that's not how stretching works, Professor."
He chuckled, his hand leaving the gear shift to rest on my knee. "Well, did you like it?"
"I... that's not the point!"
"Oh, but I think it is," he teased, his fingers tracing small circles on my knee. "Did you enjoy our little game of footsie, Sara?"
I bit my lip, trying to ignore how his touch sent shivers up my spine. "Yes," I admitted reluctantly. "But that doesn't mean you should do it again. We were at dinner with your cousin for crying out loud!"
Tom's grin widened. "Oh, I'm definitely going to do it again."
"Tom!" I exclaimed, half-scandalized, half-thrilled.
"What?" he asked innocently. "You just admitted you liked it. And I, for one, thoroughly enjoyed watching you try to keep a straight face while my foot was inching up..."
"Tom!" I swatted his arm playfully, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. "Eyes on the road, mister. I'd rather not end up wrapped around a telephone pole because you were too busy reliving your footsie fantasies."
He chuckled, his eyes flickering briefly to me before returning to the road. "Alright, alright. I'll behave... for now. But just wait until we get back to my place. Then you'll have my undivided attention all night long."
My breath caught in my throat. How he said it, so casual yet so loaded with promise, made my skin tingle with anticipation. I bit my lip, trying to come up with a witty retort, but my brain seemed short-circuited.
"Cat got your tongue?" Tom teased, his hand finding its way to my thigh again.
I managed to find my voice, though it came out embarrassingly breathy. "Maybe I'm just saving my energy. You know, for later."
"Oh? And what exactly are you planning for later?"
I leaned in close, my lips barely grazing his ear. "Let's just say... you can have me any way you want me."
The car swerved slightly, and Tom quickly corrected, clearing his throat. "Jesus, Sara. Are you trying to get us killed?"
I felt a surge of satisfaction at his reaction. "What's the matter, Professor? Can't handle a little dirty talk?"
"Oh, I can handle it," he growled, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "The question is, can you handle what I'm going to do to you when we get home?"
"I guess we'll find out, won't we?"
Tom's only response was a low groan as he pressed down on the accelerator, the city lights blurring past us as we sped toward his apartment.
The rest of the drive passed in a haze of heated glances and barely restrained desire. When we pulled into Tom's parking spot, I vibrated with anticipation.
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