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When our waiter comes back to check on us, I ask him for the check. Skye’s still studying me when we’re alone again.
“I think you’re a snob,” she decides.
“You think—? What?”
“Yeah.” Her enthusiastic nod tells me she’s warming up to the idea. Either that, or she’s had too much to drink. Seems like she hasn’t had that much, but I don’t know her limit, and I’m worried about her driving home now. “Chloe thinks you’re really quiet. Not shy, but reserved, maybe. I think you’re just a snob.”
Her smile is a little sloppy, and her eyes are bright with amusement, so I’m not offended. And truth be told, I can be a little pretentious about some things. Add that I’m very quiet and have a very intense focus on music, I suppose she might see me as a snob. Especially compared to Chloe.
“Fair enough.” I pick up my glass and drain it as Skye snags her purse off the back of her chair. The place is kind of busy, so it’s loud. There’s music playing, and there’s a soccer game on the TV hanging up above the bar. I’m not sure Skye heard me confess that she might be right. When she pulls her billfold from her purse, I lean in and grab her hand over the table. Sparks fly under my skin, up my arms, and into my chest. The eye contact feels electric, too. She looks a little dazed. She feels something, too.
“I’ve got it,” I tell her.
“No, it’s fine.” She shakes her head and tries to yank her hand from my grasp, but I don’t let her.
“Skye, let me get it.” I smooth my thumb over the bottom of her hand. Big mistake. Her skin is warm and soft, and my head—both of my heads—take a deep dive into dirty thoughts about touching her in other places. Would the skin on the back of her knees be this soft? Her inner thighs? The curves of her breasts?
As if she’s reading my thoughts or maybe thinking the same things, Skye’s face floods with pink. She clears her throat and looks away. I let go of her hand and immediately wish I hadn’t.
“You okay to drive home?” I ask as I pull my billfold from my back pocket.
“I’m fine.” She gives me a firm nod.
“Do you want me to follow you?”
“Gideon,” she tips her head, “I’ve had two margaritas. I’m fine.”
“Well, I figured. Chloe says you can drink.”
I flinch, because that probably sounds offensive, but Skye’s only reaction is a wicked laugh.
“Let’s just hope Chloe doesn’t tell you everything.” She puts her billfold away and fishes her keys out of her purse.
Wondering whateverythingmight be, what she wouldn’t want Chloe to tell me, makes me imagine all sorts of sexy things. Skye in lace. Skye with lace pooled around her heeled feet. Skye pounding shots, her head thrown back, and her sweet lips parted with laughter.
“You coming?” She stands.
Many more thoughts of Skye and lace and liquor, and I could. But I remind myself that most of her drinking stories probably include my sister. Best not to think about a sexy Skye because I sure don’t want to think of my sister doing sexy things for someone.
“I have a…” I’m blank. I can’t possibly go back to her place when I’m thinking about her like this, even after reminding myself it’s not a good idea. But I have nothing to do. No errands to run. “A thing.”
“A thing,” she repeats with a nod. “Okay. Well, I’ll see you later, Gideon. Thanks for dinner.”
