Because he didn’t just look at me and then look away. He didn’t wink at me as his gaze swept over the rest of the crowd.
He noticed me.
I was still high on that thought when I felt a touch that stole my breath.
Under the table, a warm palm splayed the length of my thigh so fast I sucked in a sharp inhale at the contact. I jerked my head toward Clay, who met me with low, lazy eyes and a cocky curl of his lips that lit me on fire almost as much as his hand slipping a few more inches up did.
“Clay,” I whispered, though I’d intended on it being a scold. It was more breathy and questioning than anything else.
He descended on me, one arm behind me along the back of the booth, and the other still on my thigh as he did. I instinctively backed away until his hand left my leg and reached up to cup my face and hold me still.
One touch.
One small, simple touch, but I burned beneath it.
My lips parted, Clay pressing in on me, his scent like teakwood and spice as he ran the pad of his thumb along my jaw. His thumb trailed up then, smoothing over my lower lip and dragging down the center of it. I tasted him, salt and whiskey, and then my lip popped free and he tilted my chin just like he had in the cafeteria.
“Good Kitten,” he purred, and then his lips were on me.
Not on my lips, but on my chin, along my jaw, crawling slowly down the length of my neck as my eyes rolled back and I arched to give him better access. His lips were warm and soft, delicately pressing against my skin as his hand slowly slid down the length of my ribs and under the table once more. He rested that palm possessively on my knee, fingertips wrapping full around it and tickling the inside of my thigh.
I was intoxicated by the heady rush until he pulled back, and when I lifted my head, our noses met in the middle. My eyelids were heavy, breath shallow and slow.
For a moment, Clay seemed to forget what he was doing, his green eyes flicking between mine as his grip on my knee tightened. But then he swallowed, leaning his forehead against mine.
“Look at him,” he whispered against my lips, and then he kissed a gentle trail along my jaw until he could nip at my earlobe with his teeth.
It was embarrassing, the little mewl that ripped from me when he did, my eyes closing automatically as I gasped and leaned into the touch. But I peeled them open in the next instant, and just like Clay said, I dragged my gaze toward the stage.
And found Shawn Stetson staring right back at me.
He was singing a song, one I didn’t know or couldn’t identify with Clay still nibbling on my earlobe and neck as his fingertips drew circles on my knee. My heart raced like a leopard, sleek leaps and bounds across the jungle of my relinquishing inhibition as I succumbed to how it felt to have a man touch me like that.
And have a different man watching.
There was something dark in Shawn’s eyes as he did, his brows bent so fiercely the line between them formed a shadow. It was an effort to keep my eyes open and watching him in return with how hot my cheeks were, how my body trembled, how my nipples peaked and ached beneath my blouse.
“No matter what I do,” Clay whispered in the shell of my ear. “Keep your eyes on him.”
The song ended and another began, and I learned that stamina was another of Clay’s attributes. He never tired of touching me, teasing me, kissing along every bit of exposed skin he could find. He even slid my blouse down off my shoulder, sucking and biting at the skin there while I watched him before he did a subtle nod for me to turn my gaze back to the stage.
I didn’t know how long had passed before, suddenly, he stopped.
A gasp expelled from my chest when he did, and I lurched forward, toward the new, cold and empty space he left between us with the act.
“I’m going to go grab a drink,” he said.
“What? We have a waitress. She’ll be right—”
Clay stood, giving me a look before he mouthed, trust me.
I frowned, not understanding, not really breathing properly after however many songs of having his hands and mouth on me like that. But he just turned and walked away just as Shawn finished the last of his song, and I righted myself, fixing my glasses and hair and smoothing a hand over my blouse and skirt.
“I’m going to take a little break and then I’ll be back to play for you beautiful people all night long. Don’t forget to leave your requests,” Shawn said, and then he propped his guitar on the stand, running his hands back through his hair. He clicked a few buttons on the controller next to him, making a soft song fill the speakers.
The next breath, his eyes were on me.
I blanched as he hopped off the stage, smiling at a few girls at one of the tables close to him as he passed. One of them reached out to hook his arm. He laughed at something she said, and all I could make out was that he promised he’d be right back.
Then, he was headed straight for me.
“Oh God,” I murmured, sitting up straighter and praying to whatever goddess was listening that I didn’t look half as much of a hot mess as I felt. I didn’t have time to check my appearance or fix a damn thing before he was standing right there in front of me, a shy smirk on his face and both hands in his pockets.
“Hi,” he said.
I blinked. “Hi.”
He watched me, his eyes floating over my blouse a brief moment before they lifted again. He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Thanks again for that tip. It was very generous.”
I smiled, somehow holding in the snort-laugh that threatened to bubble over. “Well, I love listening to you play.”
“You come to the bar on campus, don’t you?” He tucked his hand back in his pocket. “I’ve seen you there.”
He has?
“You have?”
I wanted to smack myself for not keeping the incredulousness of that statement inside, but it only made his smile quirk up more.
“How could I miss you?”
My brows shot up at that, and for what I was sure wouldn’t be the last time around this man, I was speechless.
“I don’t remember seeing you with Clay Johnson, though,” he assessed carefully, coolly. “Is he your…”
It was endearing, how the words died on his lips, and he looked like he might be thinking better than to ask before I replied, “Boyfriend?”
Shawn grinned down at the floor before meeting my gaze again. “God, that was a cheap line, wasn’t it?”
A line?
Was he… hitting on me?
“Well, he’s a lucky guy,” he said, and again I found my eyebrows hanging out somewhere near my hairline.
Shawn looked like he wanted to say something else, but he just grabbed the back of his neck before pointing back toward the stage.
“Alright, well, I should probably get some water and make the rounds before this next set. But I’m really glad you came tonight…”
He paused, waiting for me to fill in the blank.
“Giana.”
“Giana,” he repeated, smiling around the syllables of my name. “See you around soon, I hope?”
He didn’t wait for an answer before he gave me a knowing wink, turned on his heels, and made his way through the crowd, stopping at the table of girls he promised to visit. He was laughing with them again, but his eyes flicked to me, and he held my gaze until Clay plopped down in the booth next to me with a fresh drink that he didn’t really need, since most of his first one was still there.