“No worries. Ever since I turned thirty last year, I love getting carded.”
I winked at the bartender, who slid a pint of the cloudy cold beer toward me.
But I kept my attention on Rocco, my hand still tightened around him. I wasn’t sure who was grounding who at the moment.
“Don’t you want one?” I asked, holding up the frosty glass to him.
He shook his head. “Nah, I’m driving. You can buy me an iced tea, unsweetened.” That last part was more for the bartender. Rocco had expressed on multiple occasions how much he hated sweet tea. The look on his face, like he was personally offended by the fact that people put sugar in their tea, cracked me up. I was still chuckling when he went in for another full attack on my senses. He leaned closer and ran a finger on the side of my frosty glass. “It looks good though.”
Our arms didn’t actually touch, but the closeness of our bare arms sent tremors up and down my spine. I took a gulp of my beer, just to have something to do, and because I seemed hell-bent into turning this as awkward as possible. I offered him my glass. “It’s really cold. Here, have a sip.”
Why was it so hard for me to keep things cordial with Rocco?
“I could use a taste.”
Wow, that sounded so filthy, and I took full responsibility for putting us on the path of filth.
I swallowed hard and loosened my fingers to pass him the glass. His big hands gripped it, but his eyes were not on the beer. They were on me.
As mine were on him.
I felt a pulse in my nether regions that was entirely inappropriate for the time and the venue...and the man. I held my breath as he brought the glass to his lips and drank deeply, eyes closed. When he passed it back to me, he licked his lips and I swear I almost choked on my own tongue.
“That’s good beer.”
I made a sound that could’ve been a yes, but mostly I was trying hard to not let him see I was practically panting.
For a second I panicked and thought we were putting on a show for the bartender, but he’d slipped away to put some more food on the table. Or maybe he was just giving us some space so we could eye-fuck each other in peace.
Rocco leaned into me as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip and I could swear I felt it on my nipple.
What was that sound? Oh, that was just me heavy breathing.
I was going to kiss him. Screw this, I was a grown-ass woman and I did what I fucking wanted, and I just needed to know what those lips felt like. That’s right, it was just research. I would kiss him and then I’d know and I could move on from this fixation. It was worth a try. I leaned forward, my eyes zeroed in on those perfect lips.
Just as I was disbanding all my plans to not let this man disband my life, a slam of the door saved me from myself, and startled me so bad I fell off the stool.
Rocco, bless him, did not laugh at me as he pulled me up. Thankfully my humiliation was obscured by José’s hollering.
“We’re here! Dani’s the DD, so where’s the free liquor?”
“Are you okay, Julia?” That was Salome, who sounded not so much concerned as trying hard not to laugh at me.
I raised my hand in the air like a jackass. “I’m good.”
The spell broke as the tension from the last few minutes fizzled out, and thank Desus & Mero that my face does not blush, because Rocco actually winked at me before his long limbs swallowed up the space from the bar to the door as he went to meet the rest of our friends.
“Welcome, we were wondering what was taking you so long.”
I knew I was reading too much into the last five minutes, but that “we” sounded like a thing. And no matter how much my treacherous privates were clamoring for “things,” I had to stay strong.
I walked over to José, who was now cooing over the buffet table and taking photos with his phone. I pinched his shoulder and pointed at my cheek, asking for a kiss hello.
“Y que, Nena? You didn’t fall on your cute ass fast enough for me not to see you were getting up close and personal with Mr. Quinn. Mmmm.” He literally moaned. “Not that I blame you. He looks good in a suit, but those jeans are something else.” He pointed a very not casual finger at Rocco—who was now in one of the dozen huge leather seats chatting with Dani and Salome.
I lifted a shoulder and passed him a plate. Getting him distracted with free food was the only weapon I had. “Here. This looks good, right?”
José started putting stuff on his plate. “Uh-huh, amazing, chicken wings and baby carrots,” he said distractedly, as he piled stuff on his plate and gestured in Rocco’s direction again. “What was happening with you two when we walked in? It looked intense.” His stage whisper was not low at all, because why not have my life out for public consumption?
