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“Somewhere close I hope because I’m bloody starving after working this evening. Who knew selling t-shirts could be so exhausting?”
I point at myself. “Hello? I worked tonight too.”
Tegan catches my hand and squeezes. “You call that work? An hour and a half of flouncing around on stage with a guitar?”
Happiness surges that Tegan is back to her old self, the same edge of snark but with a softness in her eyes as she looks at me. In response, I take Tegan's arm and pull her close so she can’t move. “Be quiet,” I say quietly.
“Make me,” she whispers against my lips.
Again, the image of pinning her against the wall rushes in, but knowing my luck, Bryn will walk through the door. “Don’t tempt me,” I reply and release her.
When Tegan’s eyes glint and the corner of her mouth tips up, it’s apparent the teasing Tegan hasn’t left the relationship yet. Man, she turns me on and that’s going to be a big fucking problem.
16
TEGAN
The car that was supposed to take us back to the hotel pulls into a Madrid side street where we step out onto the narrow pavement. The brightly painted restaurant sign is lit in the dark, above the graffiti tagged on the wall.
“Nice job,” I hear Jax say to the driver, whose reply I don’t hear.
The large black car pulls away and my rock star date heads over and takes my hand. “This is a place for the locals. We won’t be hassled, but we could be ignored.”
“Don’t you feel like being ignored for a change?”
“I guess. As long as you don’t ignore me.” We duck through the open door and into the narrow venue. One or two groups are huddled around square wooden tables and I almost trip over a large greyhound lying on the floor between the doorway and the marble bar.
The man behind the bar looks quizzically at us as he breaks his conversation with the middle-aged couple sitting at the counter. At this point, it’s obvious neither Jax nor I can speak Spanish, so I nudge him.
To my relief, the restaurant owner grins. “A table?”
“Please,” I reply.
He sits us at the back of the room; but there’s no chance of hiding in the shadows, large round lights run along the ceiling brightly illuminating the cosy space. We order tapas and a bottle of red wine. When all we receive is a cursory glance from the locals frequenting the restaurant, I relax. Our earlier worry that stepping outside the hotel together would end in a barrage of media interest ebbs; I don't think these people are Ruby Riot's demographic.
Jax has dispensed with his t-shirt and jeans uniform tonight, dressed in a dark blue, cotton shirt, the top buttons undone, and the green stone pendant he wears hangs against the top of his toned chest. Jax is talking to me; but for a moment, I’m transfixed by his mouth, and the fact I’ve never looked at him long enough to appreciate how he looks as good in reality as in the photos. The twins are covered in piercings. I’m glad Jax hasn’t spoilt his model-looks with bars of metal through his skin.
As I pick at the stuffed artichokes on my plate, Jax pokes something on his.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Is this part of an octopus?” he whispers, nose wrinkling.
“Haven’t you eaten octopus before?”
“No!” Jax pushes it toward me and points at another item. “And is that the world’s smallest burger?”
Laughing at him, I take a bite of the offending food from his plate and he stares at me. “Eww!”
“Not very exotic in your tastes?” I ask.
“Not food, no.” He arches a brow and I shake my head at him. “What?”
“You’re missing out. Try it.”
“I don’t think so!” Jax tops up our glasses of wine.
I continue to smile to myself as we eat, more relaxed with Jax than I expected.
