“Yay!” Ayla cheers, clapping loudly and joining in to bolster my energy.
“Great fucking cat!” Rafael yells along as everyone cheers, encouraging me.
With my friends clapping, I holler my way through the rest of the speech. Their enthusiasm boils over at the high points, and I jump around, telling all my favorite stories.
The blaring music and rumbling motorcycle are like a wall of noise behind me, so loud I can’t hear myself think, but as I finish, I realize that no one in the black-clad crowd even looked our way.
Except one guy, that is.
One guy who stands near the grill, his arms crossed as he stares right at me with his shoulders casually hitched back.
He’s tall, slim but muscular. A worn black T-shirt hangs down, untucked over the waist of his tight jeans. This far away, I can still see that there’s a rise to his cheekbones and a dark line to his brow that make his face fascinating.
My breath catches as I meet his gaze, and neither of us look away.
Milo’s hand lands on my bicep. “Great speech, Matty,” he says, rubbing my arm.
The familiar warmth of his touch melts me, pulling me from the distraction. “Oh, thanks, Milo.”
The silver in his eyes and the curve of his lips are some of my favorite things in the world. For the millionth time over the past six years, I want to blurt out that I love him, but of course I chicken out.
“Do you need any help cleaning up?” Tonya asks. “I should get back to work soon.”
“We’re all set,” I say, then turn to the rest of my friends, raising my voice again above the noise. “Thank you all for coming! And remember to send me any pics you took!”
After hugs goodbye, I turn back to Ayla and am surprised to see the guy from the barbecue approaching. I give my friend awhat the hell?look, but the stranger jogs the last bit, quickly closing the distance before she gets a chance to respond.
Fuck, he’s even hotter up close.
His arms are covered in dark tattoos, all black with no color. Flowers and stars and barbed wire twine together, circling around more detailed illustrations. My artist’s eye catches on an old truck, done in stunning detail, and a full moon that emerges from beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt.
“Hey,” he says, a deep voice rolling out so sweetly, it threatens to become a purr.
“Um, hi,” I answer.
Ayla nods, but keeps a skeptical eye on him.
“Just wanted to say sorry if we interrupted your picnic. My boss Jeremiah is kind of a dickhead. He just dragged us all here so he could show off his new motorcycle and make us eat his nasty barbecue.”
Ayla chuckles, then frowns again, correcting herself.
A few minutes ago, my nostrils had been flaring while I yelled the speech his way. A big, pissed-off part of me was still screaming at him for interrupting Mixie’s moment, but there was another part of me, too.
Lost in his chocolate eyes.
Trapped in a soulful, cloudy gaze, so beautiful and dark and sparkling, I think I could stare forever and never figure those eyes out.
“We’re finished anyway,” Ayla says, taking my elbow with a squeeze and pulling me from the weird trance.
“Yeah,” I yelp as I summon up a little righteous anger on behalf of my dearly departed. “Although it was a special occasion.”
Ayla nods. “His cat’s—”
“My friend Cat’s birthday,” I hurry out, covering the mildly embarrassing truth of the picnic. “And it’s a very special birthday. Mixie—”
“Cat’s nickname is Mixie,” Ayla adds.
“Cat Mixie was very disappointed in the noise,” I conclude.
