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I listened to what he was saying, but my eyes were on the hem of his polo. Was that… a tribal tattoo? Ethan? Mr.I-Play-By-The-RulesEthan?
“Is that a tattoo?” I blurted.
He blinked, then looked down at his left arm. “Yeah, it is. I got it a few years ago when I went to Borneo.”
I suddenly wanted to yank his sleeve up and see the rest of it, even trace the ink with my fingers.
Wait. Where did that come from?
“Why were you in Borneo?” I asked.
“Wanderlust,” he replied, flagging down a server for a drink. “And I was researching exotic flavors for a select batch of mead that is, after I got the spice, is also, fittingly, named Wanderlust.”
“Well, if it's anything like your Shitkicker, you’ll be the Mead King in no time,” I reached for my cocktail.
He squinted at my drink. “Is that an Irish Tea Party?”
“It…might be?”
“Oh, you’re getting plastered tonight,” he snorted.
“I am not,” I shoved him.
“You’re a buck twenty soaking wet,” Ethan eyed me as he got his glass of whisky. “Keep that up, and you’ll be drunk before the night is over.”
“Shut it,” I grumbled. “I won’t get drunk.”
He toyed with the ice in his glass, and my eyes were drawn to his hand: long fingers that looked lean and strong and a wide palm that narrowed to a bare wrist dusted with dark hair, the muscles of his forearm firm and high. I’d just never considered it to be the sexiest part of a man’s body, but my mouth went dry when I remembered what those hands were capable of doing to me.
“How come you’re here and not at home plotting on how to take over the world?” he asked me with a side-eye.
“World domination is third on my list,” I replied. “Is under scale Mt. Everest and before master ballroom dancing.”
“So, I suppose number one is seamlessly taking over your family’s business, then,” he replied.
I did not want to talk about that with him. As a matter of fact, I wanted to forget how shitty of a run I was having in that regard. I looked down at my drink. “Can we…can we not talk about work right now?”
If there was a sign that saidI-am-not-okay,it had to be that. Hell, there was probably a big, neon, flashing sign above my head with an arrow pointing down at me. I trained my gaze on the stage instead of daring to look at Ethan. I couldn’t…no, I wouldn’t because if our gazes met, I knew I would be so tempted to tell him everything, and I couldn’t do that.
Not now.
Probably not ever.
We watched the show until, in the growing dark, I dared to look over; Ethan was half-slumped over the table, drumming his fingers on the table, a muscle in his jaw ticking away like a time bomb.
His head snapped to me, and I jumped, but he didn’t react—or possibly care that he’d caught me staring. “Want to get out of here?”
What did he mean by that?
My question must have shown on my face because he rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, your virtue will still be intact after tonight. I want to take a drive and show you something.”
Enigmatic much?
“Um, sure,” I replied.
After dropping a few bucks on the table, we left for his car, and I hopped into the passenger seat. Ethan drove out, and we headed east, where most of the town frayed into woodland and countryside. I didn’t know where he was going, but I had to trust him when he said I would be okay.
He drove us to a part of the campgrounds I’d never been to before, but it still gave us an easy walk down to the horseshoe-shaped lake.
