"Why not?" I asked. The whiskey was already going to my head, and I could feel my words getting loose. "Everyone likes cheerleaders, with the skirts andeverything."
"Not me." Cole leaned across the table, his knuckles rubbing against the back of my hand as he shifted, and he tipped his head toward me with the same half-smile he used to reject pretty cheerleaders. Every nerve in my body was pulsing at his barely there touch. "I'm not interested in women,Bartlett."
I blinked at him, frozen as he threw my exact words back at me. Every conversation, every memory of him stripping off his shirt on the boat, every sound he made last night filled my mind, and I realized this guy didn't know how to make things easy on me. He was secrets and mysteries, and one complicated mess after another. He was single-handedly ruining my quiet, comfortable existence with his questions and noise and obscene abs, and that was before I knew he was an option. Prior to this conversation, he was a short-term condition. A crush bound to end as quickly as itstarted.
But now—now that he'd aimed that smile at me and stroked my hand and invited me into one of his quiet truths—he was anaffliction.
"Owen, say something," Cole said, his voice tinted with the same untethered panic I experienced last night. His gaze fell to the table, and he shifted his knuckles away from myhand.
"You couldn't have mentioned thisearlier?"
Cole ran his hand over his jaw. "Didn't seem like the right time," he said, not meeting my eyes. "But I've wanted you since you took me home like a straymutt."
"Yeah, I really would've appreciated this information much earlier," I said. "Last night comes tomind."
He had the decency to stare down at the tabletop while his cheeks reddened at the mention of our exchange. "You got me so hard last night," he whispered. "I needed yourhelp."
Stunned silence didn't begin to describe my current state of existence. I could still feel his fingers on my wrist, his touch seared into my skin like a tattoo. I dragged my tongue over my parched lips. Reached for my whiskey but then put it down. Grabbed my napkin but then tossed it aside. "Sounded like you were doing just fine on yourown."
"Only because I was imagining your hand on my cock," he replied. "And…elsewhere."
I locked my fingers around his wrist and tugged him back. The only words I could pull together were, "I didn't tell you to letgo."
"Okay," he said, gulping. The sight of his throat bobbing turned my cock to stone. "Iwon't."
"Good. That's good." Without looking away from him, I called, "JJ. Another round overhere."
12
Harden Up
v. To turn toward the wind; sail closer to thewind.
Owen
"Wait, wait a minute,"Cole hissed, his arms outstretched at odd angles as he stumbled over his feet. "Look."
I reached for the maple tree to my right, needing somewhere to lean. Leaning was easier than staying upright. "What am I lookingfor?"
It was late and we were drunk, but the worst part was that we'd spent the evening flirting with each other like young lovers and now I was about to explode on him. Cole knew it, too. He wanted it. The sparkle in his devious grin, the way his gaze bathed me in heat, his inability to go more than a minute without brushing his hand against mine. He wanted this as much as I did or…or he was one hell of a cockteasey drunk. God, I hoped it was theformer.
"The fireflies," Cole whispered. "The louder we get, the longer they'll hide. They don't like a lot of noise or movement. Or light. But I know they're out here. Let's wait. They'll comeback."
"Yeah," I replied, transferring most of my body weight to the maple. "I've seen them plenty of times." I yawned. "Is this what does it for you? Finding fireflies? You should've told me that two weeksago."
Cole crouched down low, and he was quiet for a long moment. "I went to Tennessee once. There's a researcher there, an old woman who specializes in the Smoky Mountain Synchronous Firefly." He stood, turning in a small circle. "Photinus carolinus," he added, as if I required that detail. "The males, they flash in a synchronized rhythm. It's a mating call. But they only live in certainregions."
"Like, the Smoky Mountains?" I asked around alaugh.
"Well, yes," he replied. "And a few other regions in southernAppalachia."
"Can't picture you in southern Appalachia," I murmured. Cole was too busy tracking fireflies tohear.
"I brought a group of my—uh—businesspeople to the Appalachian Trail," he continued. "I had this big idea about sparking some childlike wonder and nostalgia for the ways things used to be. You know, summer camping trips. The greatoutdoors."
"And fireflies," Ioffered.
"And fireflies," he repeated. He gestured for me to follow him. I reluctantly pushed away from the tree, but the motion sent me colliding with his shoulder. His arms went around me, his palms settling on my belly and the small of my back to keep me steady. "Easy there, bigguy."
