A pair of roosters strutted by. They were a Ybor staple I knew too well from every sunrise.
We stopped walking and stood there for a moment, staring down the endless street of weekend revelers, neither of us quite sure what came next.
Then, for some ungodly reason, I reached down and took Finn’s hand.
His fingers were cool against my skin. They fit perfectly against mine.
“This way,” I said, pulling him gently.
“Where are we going?”
“No idea.”
“This is all very unlike you, Mr. Attorney Man.”
“I’m being spontaneous.”
Finn’s fingers tightened around mine. “I like it.”
Chapter 24
Finn
Chase’s hand was warm in mine—but it wasn’t just warm; it felt like holding something that mattered, something real.
I was trying very hard to act normal, to walk like a functioning adult and not like someone whose brain had just short-circuited because a hot guy was holding his hand on a Saturday night in Ybor.
I was failing spectacularly.
Internally, my inner twelve-year-old was doing backflips. A full gymnastic routine. My little guy even stuck the landing. Ten out of ten from all the judges . . . except the Russian. That bitch gave him a nine.
He’s holding your hand, a voice in my head whispered. Then it screamed,CHASE IS HOLDING YOUR HAND. The hottie lawyer with the hazel eyes and crooked smile is holding your hand in public.
I tried to focus onanythingelse.
The street. The people. The music spilling out of bars we passed.
Seventh Avenue on a Saturday night was alive in the way only Ybor could be, with neon signs reflecting off wet pavement from an earlier rain, groups of people laughing outside bars, and the smell of cigars and food hanging in the humid air.
We passed Bradley’s on 7th, the historic gay bar that had been there since forever. Dance music floated out of its open double doors.
“I’ve never been down here at night,” Chase said, looking around like he was seeing it for the first time. “Not like this. Not just . . . walking.”
“Never?”
He shook his head.
“I’m always working or sleeping.” He squeezed my hand. “This is nice.”
“Walking?”
“Walking with you.”
That inner twelve-year-old did another backflip.
Keep it together, Finn. Be cool. You’re a bar owner, a professional. You’re not going to combust because he said something sweet.
“You’re blushing,” Chase observed.
