Like it’s happening in slow motion, I watch as Deacon reaches his hand into his front pocket and pulls out a few folded bills before throwing them onto the bar. He’s trying to fix this for me—he’s trying to make it better.
And he does.
Just not the way he probably intended.
Without thinking, I’ve closed the distance by the time he’s done thanking the bartender, my body crashing into his as he turns toward the door.
And me.
With a grunt, he stumbles half a step, and before he can catch us both, I press my mouth to his. It’s not smooth or coordinated, but none of that matters as his lips curve up and he holds me against him.
“Evenin’,” he drawls, the solitary greeting sending a little shiver down my spine, my heart beating wildly in my chest for an entirely new reason.
“I feel wildly out of control,” I blurt out, and his smile widens at the admission.
“I like it.”
“It’s not my favorite.”
“Do you want to stay or should we go?”
I let the question replay in my mind, my nerves settling at thewein there.
“Let’s”—I look around, no one paying us any mind as we stand there with Deacon’s arms still wrapped around me—“get a table.”
“Anything you want.”
And suddenly, food is the lastthing on my mind.
33
DEACON
It’s impossible to stop my lips from twitching as Tanner downs half his beer, his leg crowded against mine under the table and his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
He’s fucking adorable and while my initial instinct is to try and put him at ease, I like seeing him like this—off-balanceandconfident sitting across from me.
It’s a heady combination.
“I’m sorry for basically tackling you,” he says, leaning back in the booth and reluctantly meeting my gaze.
“I’m not,” I murmur, pressing my leg harder against his as I let my mouth curve into a wicked smile. “I thought it was sexy as fuck.”
His cheeks heat as his fingers flex around where they’re holding the glass. “I was jealousas fuck,” he mutters, his eyes widening as if he hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud.
“Tanner.”
“And apparently I’m too tired to have a filter.”
“What else?” I tease.
“I trust you,” he starts with a shake of his head. “I just… I didn’t like the way he touched you. It was familiar and obviouslysomethingand it’s hard to look at you and wonder why you’re so okay with this when I haven’t seen you in days and…” He motions toward himself and I can guess he’s trying to highlight his inexperience, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be pissed or not.
“Have I done something to make you feel otherwise? But also, I need you to elaborate onit’s hard to look at you,” I say instead, needing that clarification as a way to lower my blood pressure.
“I’ve been MIA for a week, and I’ve been dying for you to touch me but then I spiral thinking we haven’t even had sex and?—”
“I seem to remember you sucking my dick prettyenthusiasticallynot long ago.”
