I like it with Tanner.
“Hey, yeah. I’m actually seein’ someone. He should be here soon.”
His eyes flash with a mixture of surprise and hurt before he nods. “That’s…good. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks.” Nodding, I add, “How have you been?” Impatience hums in my veins as I wait for Tanner, the televisions around the bar all streaming different sporting events, the crowd a solid mix of couples having a night out and friends congregating to watch their favorite team play.
Dark wood floors, low lighting, and a variety of high-top tables in the bar create the perfect ambiance for any kind of night.
“Good. Busy with work.” He pauses, his gaze assessing as he touches his hand to my forearm. “It was nice seeing you. I hope things work out.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Jeremy takes off to the other side of the bar and I have to wonder if we’d always been like that or if I just never noticed. I’d lived a life with no romantic attachments for a long time and it had suited me then. Pleasure had been to relieve stress and unwind.
Nothing more.
And if I wasn’t feeling the bar scene or a hookup, I had no problem using my right hand to get the job done.
But that was before.
My dick stirs at the memory of Tanner straddling me on the couch, the mixture of innocence and desire potent as he askedfor what he wanted. Or when he had my dick in his mouth, licking and sucking and driving me wild.
So fucking hot.
I’m about to pull my phone out and tell him to skip the bar and just go back to my place, but I catch him staring at me from across the room, his hands clenched and his posture rigid.
What the hell?
TANNER
The noiseof the bar is drowned out by the blood roaring in my ears, the rush of jealousy like a hit of adrenaline as I stare at the vacant space next to Deacon.
The space previously occupied by a young and veryattractiveman.
An attractive man that touched Deacon, and I don’t fucking like it.
Twin reactions war inside me—the desire to flee winning against the desire to confront Deacon about who the hell that was that touched him.
Why won’t my feet move?
I’m frozen where I stand, the logical part of my brain trying desperately to remind me that Deacon has been with other people and the fact that I haven’t ismyinsecurity.
Not his.
He’s given no reason for me not to trust him, but that happy little bubble we’ve been living in popped like a balloon in a pricker bush. Maybe if I hadn’t just worked myself to the bone this week and had more social interaction besides just talking to Sorren, I wouldn’t be this wound up.
But the panic is real.
The jealousy is real.
I wasn’t even jealous when I found out that my ex-wife had moved back here and almost immediately started hooking up with her first love. Hurt maybe, but not jealous.
Deacon’s brows slash downward as his eyes remain locked on mine.
I want to run, to get out of here and catch my breath, to not feel like the walls are closing in on me over this insignificant bump in the road.
But I said I’d chase him.
