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“No, I don’t play anything. I just…”
Sit there.
Waiting to be stood up. Waiting for my dad to save the day. Just…waiting.
But that wasn’t what I wanted to get into. Because it reminded me that the reality was, I wasn’t the bartender, or tattoo girl. I was in a damp sundress staring down a man that fascinated me and made my blood heat. A welcome notion after being bored, lonely, and cold for far too long.
I was tired of waiting.
“You’re avoiding again, Lana,” he said, his tone a little rough. “Perhaps my conversational skills are lacking?”
“Nothing about you is lacking.” That time I slapped a palm over my mouth.
He grinned. “I like your honesty. You should say what’s on your mind more often.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“I disagree,” he said calmly and set his drink down. “You may not intend to play anything,” he said, using my exact words from earlier, “but you do.” He leaned in a little and whispered in my ear. “So, let’s play.”
I swallowed hard. “W-what’s the game?”
“Honesty. Let’s start simple. I’ll ask something, you answer. Quickly and honestly. No thinking.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off with his first question. “Am I still making you nervous?”
“Not like before.” Quick and honest. Easy enough.
The look on his face made me think I’d just answered wrong.
“That’s a shame.” Taking one
fingertip, he ran it along the condensation of my drink, then slowly slid it up my knee.
I jolted a little.
“Give me a number, Lana.”
“S-six,” I said with a small stutter.
“Hot or cold?”
“Hot.” It was instant, no thought needed, because my body was the one talking. His finger may be cold, but the way it grazed my skin left a heated trail.
“Good. The number I can work with. The cold I can’t.”
His words hit a spot deep in my chest. Like he cared. Understood me in a weird way that allowed me to feel in control and calm, while on fire at the same time. The number was a way to keep track of my limits. But the cold? He couldn’t work with that? It spoke to the kind of man he was: one that wasn’t interested in scaring a woman.
Pushing limits maybe, but not scaring.
I knew this deep down. Though he was still an unknown rogue type of hero out of nowhere, he wasn’t cruel. Cruel men I could sense. Not Jack. He was hard and intense and dark, but not in a way that frightened me. Instead, he had a way about him that rose my curiosity and my blood pressure.
“You said there was a man here, someone from your past you didn’t care to see. Is he still here?”
I peered around again. Though I couldn’t see Brock, I had a feeling he was still here. Lurking.
A violent tremor rushed through me, and I went for another drink of my vodka, only to find it was empty.
“I’m not certain.” Without thinking beyond the desire for another dose of liquid courage, I took Jack’s bourbon and finished it.
“Careful,” he said.
