He takes my hand in his and does something absolutely swoon-worthy. He dips his head and presses his mouth dead center on my palm. “That’s a fair assessment and fair warning from your brother.”
I can’t look away from his dark head of hair. I long to weave my fingers in the inky strands. I’m robbed of breath from his mouth touching my flesh. I’m lost to the hunger in his eyes when he glances up and our gazes meet.
My throat moving in a tight swallow of nerves and lust, I recite another rule. “No dating guys that are his age unless I have a chaperone. Guys his age are horny, and their priority is body count. Again, his words.”
“I have a similar rule for my younger sister, but not for those reasons.”
“How old is she?”
“Twenty-one.”
“She’s my age.” I slide my hand out of his hold. “If we see one another again”—which is unlikely—“it’ll be like me dating my brother. He’s your age, and dating my brother is ick. Not that you’re ick. Or that you’re in the same category of horny with only body count on the brain. But you could be, and that’s okay. Or it’s not, and our age difference could be an issue.”
I’m rambling and going back on what I said earlier. I cover my flaming face.
“Just so you know, you’re sexy AF, and that’s why I’m blabbering. I am so sorry,” I say behind my hands.
He lowers them. His hands are big, and their warmth seeps into my skin. “AF?”
That’s all he has to say after I verbally vomited nonsense? I wave my hand. “Um, you know, as fuck?”
“I did, but I wanted to hear you say it. You’re fucking hot when you curse.”
My face heats more as I imagine saying fuck, fuck, fuck as he thrusts inside me. Or him saying it as he comes inside me. I cross my legs. My pussy is weeping.
Thank goodness something or someone in the crowd catches Bobby’s attention. I look where he’s looking. A group of women are talking to the bouncer who let me in.
They’re gesturing from them to me with accusatory stares. Do they think I’m under twenty-one? I get that a lot. I take a drink of my water and stare back. Not my circus, not my monkeys. If they have issues, they can take it up with management.
The bouncer’s gaze cuts to us, and I swear unspoken words pass between Bobby and the bouncer. What the hell? But I must be wrong. Bobby is just another customer. I blink, and he’s returned his attention to me. The bouncer and another huge guy usher the women out the door.
“If you don’t mind, how’d you get the name ‘Ever’?”
I eat another mozzarella stick before I answer. “When my mom told my dad she was pregnant with me, he said, ‘Whatever.’ He didn’t care. He was on his way to prison for murder. My mom did care, but she didn’t want to name me whatever, so she settled for ‘Ever.’”
“I don’t know whether I should laugh or cry.”
I smile. “I didn’t either when she told me.”
“Aw, Ever, I’m sorry.”
“No worries. I didn’t give it much thought when my mom told me. You know what crossed my mind?” I ask.
“What?”
All his attention is on me, and I’m soaring above the clouds.
“How my brother, Ty, lucked out on getting a normal name. Tyler Moretti. The girls were wild for him in school.”
“Did you grow up in Dumas?” He runs his fingers up and down the beer bottle’s neck.
I look away from the hypnotic rhythm of his caresses on the glass and clear my throat. “Montgomery.”
“What’s your brother doing now?”
His curiosity isn’t a red flag. It’s polite to ask someone about their family. “He owns a tattoo shop in Montgomery’s International District. He also moonlights as a bouncer at Red Dahlia nightclub. What about you? Do you have other siblings?”
“Just my younger sister. I’d like to see her more, but work takes up my time.”
