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CHAPTER ELEVEN
I press my hand against the heavy wooden door of Mama Den’s Bar and Restaurant and freeze. Sonnie just about stops before he crashes into my back.
“Are we really doing this?” I whisper over my shoulder, closing my eyes and sucking in a long breath. “Dinner with your friends is...” I puff out and shake my head tightly.
“Just dinner with my friends.” His chuckle tickles over the side of my cheek from where he’s rested his chin on my shoulder and wrapped his arms around my waist. “No biggie.”
I twist my face until I can meet his gaze past the red curtain of my hair. “Let’s just go back to the bungalow, and I can do that thing you like with my tongue again.”
He clears his throat and turns me to him, tugging me from the doorway by my hands.
I have a hard time not giving him a once over. Or technically a fiftieth over. The man wears a button down really fucking well. Unbuttoned at the neck. Rolled at the sleeves. The front tucked into his low-slung, soft denim jeans. And don’t even get me started on the black porkpie hat covering his hair. My exact flavor of man. It’s exhilarating. It’s petrifying. It goes against everything I stand for. And don’t even get me started on having dinner with his friends. Even if I half-know them—my palms haven’t stopped sweating since we left the bungalow. I wipe them on my slightly-flared navy mini skirt, the silver bangles on my wrist jingling.
“Tempting.” His stare drops to the loose white tank I’ve tucked into my skirt and my nipples instantly tighten against the thin material, the flimsy lace bralette I’m wearing beneath it doing nothing to disguise them. He groans and pulls me to him, the hard bulge in his jeans pressing into my hip.
“See? We’re not ready to be out in public.” I bite my bottom lip, slide my hands into the back pockets of his jeans and wiggle closer. “Take me home and—”
“—Woman.” He shakes his head as if to clear the same lusty fog Hoo-ha brain is happily floating in and drags my hair forward over both shoulders, so it covers my breasts. “This isn’t a big deal and I’m starving.”
I let him pull me towards the doors by my hand, but I don’t miss the breath he puffs out before he pushes them open. No big deal my ass.
Mama Den’s is packed. Full of people, old and young, sitting on brightly painted chairs around big round tables with huge platters of amazing, tangy, spicy-smelling food. I have a hard time focusing on one thing at a time and I momentarily forget my doubts about being here. This place is amazing. The ceiling is filled with hundreds of colored, blown-glass lights hung at different heights like a multicolored night sky. There’s a massive circular bar in the middle of the large space, manned by cocktail shaking bartenders, while waitresses buzz around the tables, trays effortlessly balanced on a hand above their heads.
It’s eclectic and crazy, but easy-going and relaxed. I love it.
He stops and jerks his chin for me to pass him. So, I do. I walk and I gawp. We make our way to the side wall through a path between the tables and my mouth flops open even more. The wall is filled. And I mean completely choc-a-block-filled with photos. Old-school polarized photos. My gaze darts from one smiley face to the next as I’m guided towards the back of the room.
We’ve just about made it when a familiar pair of smiling blue eyes from one of the Polaroids shock me still.
Impossible.
This time Sonnie does crash into me from behind, but I’m way too stunned to so much as flinch at the hard press of his chest against my back. Okay. That’s bullshit. Hoo-ha may register his hand dropping to steady himself on my waist and the tickle of his breath over the back of my neck, but still. It all comes second to the oh-my-fucking-God-moment I’m having right about now. I squeeze my eyes shut then open them and squint at the faded old snapshot.
My nose twinges and my eyes sting as I reach up to touch the photo. I don’t understand.
“Everything okay?”
Sonnie. Right. I spin around and nearly crack my forehead off his chin. “Yup. Fine. Great.”
“You sure? You look freaked.”
“I just—” I twist back to examine the photo again. He’s slimmer and shirtless, but I’d recognize his old school tattoos and those heavy-lidded blue eyes anywhere. “I know him. And her.” I squint closer at the woman perched on his knee. “That’s Flynn and his wife.”
“Photo!”
We both snap our heads around at our unexpected company just in time to be blinded by the flash of camera in the hands of an old Japanese woman.
I watch, confused as she pulls the photo from the slit and starts to fan it, stopping ever so often to check the slowly materializing picture. Her wrinkled lips pucker and she tuts. “Look happier.”
“Mama Den. Really?” Sonnie practically bristles beside me. “Now?”
“I’m lost.” I stare between them. “What? Why?”
The woman’s lined face creases into a wide grin, and she shakes her head, her silver-streaked black hair scraped back into a tight bun on top of her head. “You two are going on the wall. You may as well make it a flattering one.”
His laugh is—panicked? “Just smile. I’ll explain later.”
The torrent of questions waiting to be unleashed on the old woman are abruptly cut off under the weight of Sonnie’s arm around my shoulders. I glance up at his smirking face just as the flash goes off for a second time. “No, wait, I wasn’t ready.” I tear my eyes from the stubbled line of his jaw to the smug old camera-wielding lady.
