He wore the firehouse tee, stretched too perfectly across his wide shoulders, his cargos framing those thick thighs, and my mouth watered on instinct. I hadn’t forgotten the way he’d kissed me until I was delirious, or how damn good the thick weight of his cock felt. I’dfantasized about having that inside me as well, but he seemed to be done with me based on the few texts back.
“—and we’d be closer to Grandma and Grandpa,” Mom continued, clearly in the middle of a conversation I hadn’t realized we were having.
Awareness filtered through me of Drake in the room, even as I returned my focus to my folks. “Have you been discussing this with them?” I asked.
“They’re one of the reasons,” Mom said. “Grandma’s not walking around well anymore. She’s struggling, and I want to be able to help her and Grandpa.”
More guilt poured right over me. I hadn’t even known they were having a hard time. When I called Grandma last month, she’d been as much of a firecracker as ever. “All I heard was about the mushrooms she was growing that looked like dicks.”
Dad snorted. Mom’s mother had always been on the raunchier side, and we loved her for it.
“Hey, August?” Drake’s voice snared my attention.
He stood a few feet away and waved. My mouth dried, and words evacuated my mouth. This close, I was reminded of every stolen moment from our time at the pier after the concert. The entire night had been unforgettable from beginning to end.
“Shit, I’m sorry for interrupting,” he said as he scanned over my parents.
“Mind if I go say hi?” I asked my folks. Both of them got a glint in their eyes that I didn’t like because the last thing I needed was them interfering right now. Especially when they were trying to get me to leave the area.
“Sure, we’ll be here,” Mom said, giving me a shooingmotion.
I hopped out of the seat, far too eager to be away from all the conflicting thoughts with my folks. Drake had already started toward the bar, and I strode up beside him.
“Just got off a shift?” I asked, taking in the bags under his eyes and the slight slump of his shoulders.
“Another twenty-four. After the concert, I got launched into the thick of it at work, and apparently everyone and their mother was having a kitchen fire this week. You started a trend.” Drake rifled his fingers through his hair and flashed me a grin.
My insides flip-flopped. God, he was dangerous for my heart.
The bartender swung by, and he ordered himself a beer and a burger for takeout before looking back at me. “You want?” I shook my head, since my food and drink remained back at the table with my folks. “Sorry for not responding much,” he continued. “Didn’t expect to run into you here, but I’m glad I did.”
“Me too,” I responded, the relief instantaneous. Maybe he hadn’t gotten sick of me yet. “Thought the question about feet had been too much, but apparently not.”
He snorted. “I mean, look, when I’m operating on zero sleep, I can’t comprehend what I’d do with webbed feet. Can I get back to you on that?”
“Mm, don’t know,” I said, tapping a finger against my chin. “It’s kind of pressing information if we keep talking.”
His brows wrinkled in confusion.
“Like, are you the sort who’d try to do some underwater tricks or jerk yourself off with your webbed feet?”
“Is this a test? Like if I say the latter, then you’re done with me?” he teased, a wicked arch to his brow that I liked a bit too much.
“Oh, I’d try the latter,” I commented. “I don’t like living with missed opportunities.”
The bartender swung over with his beer, and Drake took a sip. The glossiness on his lower lip was far too sexy, and the urge to lean in and lick it surged strong. Fuck, how was he this damn hot and still talking to me?
“So, were you serious about being a concert buddy?” he asked.
“Do octopi have three hearts?” I responded, excitement bursting through me. Not that I was short on friends, but our night together had been replaying in my mind ever since it happened.
He blinked at me. “I have no idea. Do they?”
“Yeah,” I said, scratching at my nape. “Weird facts are kind of my territory, mostly due to art research. I’ve had to do a lot of nautical sleeves.”
“Is there anything you hate to tattoo?” he asked, settling in his seat. I cast a glance back at my folks, but they were deep in discussion over at the booth where I’d abandoned them.
“Script and lettering aren’t my favorite, but it’s normal territory with the job. Big pieces are where I thrive.” I chewed on my lower lip. “But about the concert?”
