I nod slowly, letting the quiet settle instead of rushing to fill it. My thumb keeps tracing a small circle over the back of his hand before I even realize I’m doing it, the motion steady and absent, like my body’s trying to keep something calm that my brain hasn’t caught up with yet.
Rev drains the last of his whiskey and glances at my glass, barely a swallow left. “Want another?”
I nod.
He lifts his hand and signals the waiter with two fingers. The guy catches it and gives a quick nod, smart enough to keep his distance this time. Good. He was a little too comfortable earlier,and I’m very obviously sitting here with Rev. Most men take one look at him and decide flirting would be a bad life choice.
Not that anyone in this place actually knows what we are to each other.
Neither do we.
The waiter comes back a minute later and slides the two fresh glasses onto the table without a word before disappearing again.
I grab mine immediately and take a long pull like I’ve forgotten how alcohol works.
The burn hits hard on the way down, sharp enough to make my eyes water. I swallow and suck in a breath, hand flying up to my chest. “Hell,” I gasp, coughing a little. “That was not smart.”
Rev’s mouth curves, a real laugh breaking through the tension for the first time since we walked in. “You’d think you’d learn.”
I shoot him a look. “Don’t judge me.”
He just shakes his head, still smiling, and takes a slower sip of his whiskey like a responsible adult.
A familiar song kicks on over the speakers, one I’ve played a ridiculous number of times in my car, and my head snaps up automatically. “Oh my God,” I say, already grinning. “I love this song.”
I start swaying in my seat without even thinking about it, shoulders rolling a little, mouthing the words under my breath before I give in and start quietly singing along.
Rev watches me over the rim of his glass, eyes steady, expression softening in a way that makes my stomach do something inconvenient. He doesn’t say anything, just nurseshis drink and lets me have my moment like it’s the best part of his night.
I catch him looking and laugh. “Don’t start.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he replies easily.
“You were thinking it.”
“Yeah,” he admits. “Probably.”
I grin wider and keep swaying anyway. The air feels heavy. The song fades into the background, the clink of glasses and low voices around us blur until it’s just him and me and the space we’re not touching. Rev looks so damn good it almost makes me restless. Dark jeans. A black t-shirt pulled tight across his chest and arms like the fabric gave up trying to pretend he isn’t built the way he is. His cut draped over his shoulders, Iron Reapers patch catching the low light. Ink winding down his forearms, disappearing under the sleeves, hints of stories I don’t know but absolutely want to. He looks exactly like what he is. Dangerous. Steady. Solid. The kind of man you don’t forget once you really see him.
I’ve never wanted a taste of bad the way I do right now. Before I can overthink it, I hook my fingers into the hem of my shirt and pull it up and over my head, tossing it onto the empty side of the booth. The black camisole underneath clings just right, neckline dipping low enough to make a point without me having to say a word.
Rev’s gaze drops automatically and his jaw tightens. A faint flush creeps up his cheeks like his body reacted before his brain could catch up. He doesn’t hide the look, doesn’t rush to look away. He takes his time, eyes tracing the lines he’s suddenly very aware of.
My pulse thumps. I don’t know why that small reaction hits me so hard, but it does. Maybe because this man held me while I cried. Maybe because he showed up when I was scared and didn’t ask questions first. Maybe because in all the quiet moments lately, when the world finally slowed down enough for my thoughts to catch me, he’s the only one who keeps showing up in my head.
His eyes finally lift back to mine, dark and intent now, something heated and careful tangled together in the way he’s looking at me. “You trying to start trouble, Princess?” he murmurs.
I tilt my head slightly as I look him over appreciatively. “Maybe I just got warm.”
His mouth curves, slow and dangerous. “Uh-huh.” The way he says it sends a little shiver straight down my spine.
We keep holding each other’s gaze, the fire humming low and steady between us, neither of us moving closer, neither of us pulling back, and somehow that restraint makes it feel even more intense.
I wrap my fingers around my glass and take a slow sip, never breaking eye contact. I drain the rest of my whiskey and set the empty glass aside, the courage settling warm and steady in my chest. Before I can overthink it, I slide out of the booth and turn back toward him, holding my hand out, palm up.
Rev stares at it for a long second. Not startled. Not unsure. Just weighing the moment, like he understands exactly what stepping into it means. His eyes lift to mine, searching my face for something I can’t quite name. Permission, maybe, or maybe he’s just making sure this is real.
Then his fingers curl around mine. His hand is warm and solid, rough in a way that feels like home. The contact sends a quiet jolt straight through me, settling low in my belly. I don’t let go. I tug him gently from the booth and he follows.
