“One basket of salty fries coming up.” I brush past Sebastian, stopping to look at him over my shoulder. “Do you know how to follow directions, Dunn?”
“Exceedingly well, Monroe.”
“Good. Heel,” I say, and he bursts out laughing as he follows me.
Space is limited when we finally make it to the bar. A guy a cocktail or two past drunk stumbles into me, and I nearly lose my footing. Sebastian positions himself behind me, his chest to my back, a hand planted on the counter on either side of my arms so I’m out of harm’s way.
“You okay?” he asks, a rasp in my ear.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat, gaze dropping to his large palms. There’s a scar above the knuckle of his ring finger on his right hand, and my mind drifts to the story behind the tiny mark. A rambunctious younger Sebastian playing too hard and hurting himself? Adult Sebastian tripping over a branch while chasing a storm? Why do I care? “Thanks.”
“What’s your drink of choice?” He bends his neck so I can hear him over the baseball game on the TV. “Let me guess. A hurricane?”
“I need to get out more and find some new hobbies. My life doesn’t revolve around weather phenomena.” I pause. “But I wouldn’t say no to a sweet drink every now and then. Especially one with rum in it.”
“I knew it. Okay. So, no tropical flavors tonight. What are you picking instead?”
“Whatever Mia ordered for us last time. If I wasn’t feeling festive with Christmas in July, I’d pick a gin and tonic with lime.” I place an order and spin to face him, the small of my back pressing against the bar. The movement brings our bodies closer, and I expect him to move. To give me an inch or two, but Sebastian keeps his hands in place. His forearms are a fortress, my private bodyguard in the crowded room. “What about you?”
“I never got into liking anything too fancy.” Sebastian gestures vaguely over his shoulder, and I spot the table where his friends are sitting. Cooper waves, moving their empty beer bottles into a triangle.One of them is wearing a hat made out of a folded napkin. “Beer is fine.”
“You didn’t like to party at UCF?”
“I was too busy trying to keep up with you in class. I couldn’t walk into Atmospheric Chemistry with a hangover and expect to do as well as you.”
“Who knew it only took a few drinks to get you to admit I was smarter than you?”
“Don’t twist my words, Quinny baby.” He dips his chin. Lets out a low rumble of an exhale. “But for the record, you aresignificantlysmarter than me.”
I shift on my feet, the compliment wedging its way between my ribs. “Truth or Dare, Dunn?”
“I love when you play along.” His smile is the brightest thing in the bar. Twinkling lights on a Christmas tree in December. The perfect shade of sunshine. “Truth. Ask me anything you want.”
“Tell me about your tattoo.”
I don’t know if it’s how close he’s standing to me or the smell of something smoky hanging in the air. Maybe it’s lowered inhibitions, loose thoughts. That damn rescue scene playing in my head again, because I’m reaching over and pushing up his sleeve. Tapping my fingers on the storm cloud inked on his arm and scraping my nails over his warm skin.
I trace the outline of the raindrops, and his palm folds over mine, heavy, steady. Sebastian moves slowly, guiding my touch to the microphone then back to the bolt of lightning on his bicep, and time stands still.
He’s touched me before, but this is different. He’s so careful and quiet, and my traitorous, wretched mind wanders to his hands and what he likes to do with them. How soft his mouth might be on my neck. If he could lift me up and pin me against a wall and if there are tattoos on other parts of his body I can’t see.
Heat inundates my face again. What would it feel like if he dipped his chin? If he whispered in my ear and put a hand on my thigh? Would he praise me? Tease me? Drag out the torture until I couldn’t stand it anymore and begged him to touch me? To let me come?
“Fourteen.” His voice is distant, pulled from another realm, and he comes back into focus. His eyes are cataloging my face, the bridge of my nose. “I’ve always wondered.”
“Wondered what? What are you counting?”
“So many things.” He blinks away the glassiness behind his gaze, but his hand stays put. I swear his thumb brushes along the inside of my wrist. “The tattoo? It’s stupid. A drunken souvenir from when I was in DC last year. I ended up making a friend at the studio, some guy getting his girl’s name tattooed on his chest. And a jersey number? I could be making that up. He reminded me of this hockey player I like. No way it was him.”
“It’s oddly specific for a drunken souvenir. Do you have a Pinterest board full of weather-related tattoos?”
“I told the artist I was a meteorologist and to interpret that however they wanted. I’d say they did a good job. What about you? Do you have any tattoos?”
“I might.” My hand falls away. I step to my left. “But I’m not telling you where it is.”
“You’re going to let my mind wander? That’s dangerous.” His eyes move from my collarbone to my wrist. A drawn-out, thorough search he could do in a bed. On the edge of this bar. “My brain can be an imaginative place.”
“Imagine all you want. You’re never going to see it.” I’m grateful when the bartender taps my shoulder, bringing over a round of drinks and a large basket of fries. We need a change of subject. Feet of distance between us. “How is living with Cooper while you’re here?”
