“So, T, what are you going to call it once it’s yours?” Logan asks once we’re all back together.
“Yeah, are you going to keep the name or change it?” Poppy asks.
“I was thinking I’d change it,” I say. “Tanner’s: The Local Spothas a nice ring to it.”
“It’s perfect,” Wren says.
Lacey returns with a tray full of tequila shots and limes.
“Not fucking tequila,” Logan groans.
“Stop being a baby, Peterson,” Lacey quips. “Everyone grab a shot.”
“To Tanner’s!” Wren yells.
“To Tanner’s!” the rest of us repeat, clinking our glasses together. I bring mine to the table, tapping it against the wood, and shoot it back, chasing it with a lime. Grabbing Wren, I dip her into a kiss.
“Come on, pretty girl. You owe me a dance.”
She takes my hand and leads me toward the dance floor. We stop in the middle of the floor, and I jog over to the DJ to request a song.
“You Make My Dreams (Come True)” by Hall and Oates begins to play, and I spin around. Her mouth spreads into a wide grin, and once again, we get lost in each other, dancing around the bar that will soon bemine.
CHAPTER 40: MY WILD GIRL
TANNER
Tonight meant more to me than Wren will ever know. We’re laying in bed, and she’s curled up in my arms. My mind is bouncing between thoughts of the bar and telling her I love her, but I’ve never said those words to anyone before, and it’s scary as hell. I think I probably need to take her on a few more dates, and then if I can muster the courage, I’ll tell her when the timing is right.
“You still awake?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“What’s something you’ve always wanted to try but have never gotten the chance to do?”
“Um, like sexually?” she asks, and even though that’s not what I meant, I love that’s where her head went.
“I meant like a non-sexual activity.” I chuckle. “I was just thinking about our next date, but now I want to know what popped into that head of yours.”
“Oh, oops,” she says. “No, forget I said that. I’ve always wanted to take a pottery class.”
“No, you’re thinking about something, and I must know what it is.”
“Yeah, a pottery class,” she says.
“No, you’re thinking about a sex activity. What is it?”
“It’s silly.”
“I doubt it. Come on—I’ll tell you my sexual fantasy if you tell me yours.”
She hesitates again.
“I’m gonna start guessing,” I warn.
“Don’t you dare.”
“Is it me in bat wings like that book you like?”
