“Here you go,” Rowan says, appearing next to me with a cocktail and a beer.
“What are these?”
“Cocktails and Consonances specialty is obviously cocktails, so I got you one. You like sweet things, right?”His tone shifts into something flirty and suggestive as he says this.
“So sweet, you smell so good…”
My cheeks flush, and I look away from him as I accept the drink. Rowan wears a knowing smile as he sits next to me.
“It’s a Mermaid Water. You’ll love it,” he insists.
I eye his beer.“Then why are you drinking beer?”
“Because I’ll be driving us home,” he says smoothly, taking a sip from the glass bottle. Condensation rolls down the neck and over his fingers, making them glisten in the flashing lights of the bar.
“Oh,” I murmur.
“Do you like fried pickles?”
I remove my eyes from his incredibly manly and appetizing hands and meet his gaze.“Yeah, why?”
“I ordered some. They should deliver them soon,” Rowan says.
I can’t really think around how bright the green of his eyes is, or how close we’re sitting—our shoulders rubbing together with every breath, so I just nod.
The country song ends, and after a few beats of silence, someone else takes the stage with a rock song from the early 2000’s. Rowan seems to know this one, as his fingers tap away at the tabletop.
For a while, we sit just like this—watching grown adults make fools of themselves in public while we laugh quietly to each other.
And right as my nerves are starting to settle—thank you, second Mermaid Water—and I’ve begun to become comfortable with my surroundings, Rowan’s hand slides slowly up my thigh.
It stops just before it touches me where I really want him to touch me, and I find it hard to breathe suddenly.
“Eli,” he whispers, lips brushing my ears.
I repressanothershudder and swallow hard.“Y-yes?”
“Go sing something.”
My head snaps to the side, our noses brushing with how close he’s leaned into me.
“What?! No way.” And then I’m turning away again, because I can’t be trusted to be that close to him and not shove my tongue down his throat.
“Come on,” he purrs, continuing to drag those fucking lips up the length of my neck. Rowan places a small kiss right behindmy ear, and a small, unrecognizable sound falls from my lips. “I want to see you up there.”
“You’re beingsounfair,” I mumble, setting my cup down as I hop off my stool. It’s ridiculous how easily he can command me.
After leveling Rowan with the world’s least intimidating glare, I find the DJ stand next to the stage. There sits a binder full of songs, and once I’ve found one I know well enough, I turn toward the man.
“Hey, handsome,” he grins, looking me up and down the way drunk flirty guys do.
He appears to be around my age and decently handsome, too. But in comparison to Rowan, he looks like a toad—and I feelnothingin his presence. Obviously.
“Hi. I’d like to sign up to sing J-163,” I tell him politely, and he nods.
“Right on. Stay right here, you’re next.”
“Next?!” I damn near screech. “There’s not a line?”
