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“How do you know I’d even want you to show up on my doorstep?” I narrow my gaze at him, sucking my lower lip into my mouth to keep myself from grinning.
“Same way I know that when I do this–” he reaches out and gently slides his fingers down my cheek “–that you’ll do that.” His gaze goes to my mouth and only then do I realize my lips have parted.
He smiles knowingly and lets his hand fall.
“You’re really, really sure of yourself.”
“So you’ve said, a few times actually.” He smirks.
“Well, it’s true.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I just know that there’s no way I’m the only one that feels this.” He gestures between the two of us.
“Maybe you aren’t.” I look down to where my hands are knotted in my lap. “So, you got me up here, now what?” I lift my gaze and look around the vacant space.
“I didn’t really have a plan. Just figured most places would be closing soon.”
“So why bring me here and not to your apartment?”
“Truth?”
“Always.”
“I was worried it might freak you out if I suggested it.”
“What vibes have I given you tonight that would make you think that?” I arch a brow.
I’m not sure where this Finley has come from, but I got to say I like her. I can’t remember a time where I’ve ever been so upfront with someone, let alone a guy. Maybe it’s my situation or maybe it’s Abel and how he makes me feel. Whatever it is, it has me wanting to reach out and take exactly what I want. No hesitation. No second guessing.
“Do you want to come to my apartment?”
I think on his question for a long moment, every fiber of my being wanting to screamyes!
“Maybe in a little while,” I tell him, giving him a sly smile. “First I want to know more about you.”
“I feel like I’ve told you everything there is to know.”
“I highly doubt that. I barely know anything about you.”
“Okay, then.” He looks at me for a long moment. “What is it that you want to know?”
“Tell me about those,” I say, pointing to his left arm that is covered in various splatters of ink. “I’ve always wanted a tattoo but never had the courage to get one.”
“I love them. They’re therapeutic in a way. My parents despise them.” He lifts his arm and looks at it.
“Well, I love them. Though I do have a question.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you only have them on this arm?” I reach out and gently touch his forearm.
“Yep.” He nods.
“Is there a reason for that?”
“Not really.” He shrugs. “It started with one.” He lifts his arm and points to a shaded guitar that extends the length of his forearm along the back. “After that I had the itch and decided to get another.” He lifts his sleeve and runs his hand along the brilliant red, yellow, and orange phoenix on his bicep. “I’ve always liked the look of a sleeve, the way the pieces all fit together in a perfectly jumbled puzzle, so as I continued to get more I decided to stick with this arm.”
“What’s that say?” I point to the tattoo directly below it where words are etched in beautiful cursive.
