I pour out another two fingers of whiskey just as Boss ducks under the bar. He tips his chin toward where Julian’s sitting and says, “Go. I’ve got it.”
I try keeping my face neutral as I move around to the same side of the bar and next to Julian. Lifting myself up onto the bar stool, I sit sideways, tip the glass to my lips, and take a sip, letting myself enjoy it for a moment. My skin feels warm, and I’m very aware of the way he’s watching me. When I hand him the same glass, he tosses back what’s left and then grabs onto the leg of my bar stool and drags me between his legs.
My breath catches. Swallowing the way that move just made me feel, I cross my legs and glance at his hands. “Show me,” I demand.
He does as I ask and lays both, palms up, on the bar.
As I’ve been taught, I evaluate what I see first. I paid attention last time he was here to his dominant hand—right. That will be his present and future. His left is the path given or inherited.
I observe the length of his fingers in relation to his palm, take in the mounds at the base of each finger, and then brush my fingers along the center of his left hand. My heart rate kicks up,and I feel like the sound of it has to be as loud for him as it is for me. I blow out a slow breath.Be brave. My fingertips trace over the two rings he wears—one on his pointer and the other on the middle. The metal isn’t smooth; it’s raised and looks like it’s been intricately cut.
“Am I making you nervous, Naomi?” he whispers.
“Shh,” I bite back with a laugh, my hands trembling slightly as I move my fingers along the deepest line of his palm. “But yes, you make me nervous,” I say honestly, looking up through my lashes. “I think you already knew that.” Running my touch up the length of his right hand to the tips of his fingers, I graze the rough calluses that protrude along each. I wonder what other parts of him feel like and if he’s wondering the same about me. He lets out a short, low hum, and instantly, this changes from struggling to concentrate on a palm reading to focused foreplay.
Large hands, warm skin, and the way I’m so turned on by this simple, G-rated contact that it makes me realize how touch starved I must be.
“I can’t tell if what you’re seeing is good or bad,” he says jokingly.
I smile and move my touch across four deep-set lines.
“How did you learn how to do this?” he asks, watching me as I move my fingers along each indent and line.
I hesitate for a moment, deciding how much he gets to know. Attraction is one thing, but sharing about a life that I miss will make this feel more intimate than I planned. He watches me and waits, giving space for the silence I’ve let linger from his question.Be brave.“My grandmother believed and practiced all of it—palms, crystals, astrology.” I let out a small laugh. “And of course, tarot,” I say, trying not to get too lost in any memories. I smile when I think about the rumors that she leaned into and let fly—she was, or rather is, a force of nature. And while I didn’t agree with the way my mother and grandmother chose to leadtheir lives, I still hated how judgmental the world could be about what others chose to put their beliefs and energy into. “Palm reading, out of all the things she’d practiced, seemed like the most practical, so she would talk to me about it in her garden. She’d always tell my sisters and me that we were so different despite so much of us being the same.”
“How so?” he asks.
I think about the things that made us stand out, the parts we shared that made me feel good. “Green eyes,” I say, smiling. “We each have award-winning personalities, but we also have the same shoe size. Shared a big, fat love of heels and boots.” It feels wrong talking about them out loud like this, like I’m sharing too much of myself with someone who hasn’t earned the privilege.
Shaking my head, I try to come back to the present with him. “I think that’s why I liked all of that—palm reading, astrology, and tarot. Everything’s up for interpretation, but...” I run my pointer along his deepest-set line. “I appreciate the idea that it’s not all predetermined or that we don’t inherit a life we don’t want.” I lower my voice and lighten the moment. “And it’s a fun party trick that’ll sometimes score me a really thick tip.”
“Jesus Christ,” I hear Viv rush out as she heads for the door with a clove cigarette hanging from her lips. “You said thick tip...” She shakes her head like I’m killing her.
My gaze whips back to Julian, slightly mortified, but he just widens his eyes and smiles at me with amusement.
Biting my lip, I draw my finger along the center of his life line when he asks, “Does this tell you anything about the incredible woman I’ve just met? Or why talking with her has me feeling like I don’t want to go anywhere else?”
I release a shaky breath. Maybe he’s just handing me a line, and maybe that’s even better. Allowing whatever this is to play out. Attraction? Desire? And not read into it any more than that. I can’t think of the right word for what this feeling is as I brushmy fingers along each line of his hand, so instead I finish the task I’ve started and read.
“This is your heart line,” I tell him. “It’s the deepest one, and there’s no deviation, which some might say means you connect with people and you love deeply. Are you married?”
He tips his head down, trying to find my eyes. When I glance up at him and smile, he asks, “You can’t see the answer?”
Shaking my head, I look back to his palm and brush my pointer along the center line again and trace the mounds that are typically called Venus and Jupiter. “Eyes up here.”
I look up again, eyes on him as he requested.
He smirks, another low and pleased hum coming from his throat that feels as if it rumbles through my limbs and settles at my core. “I wouldn’t be sitting here with you if I were married, Naomi.”
I swallow, already knowing that in my gut and so distracted that I don’t know what I’m seeing in these lines anymore. “It could be assumed that you will have one great love of your life,” I say, then, with a twinge of joking sarcasm, I add, “No pressure.” But then I sway slightly closer and exhale the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Just one?” he asks jokingly. “You said it’s all up for interpretation, so what do you think that line really means?”
“Beyond the luxury of loving someone, I understand what it feels like not to be in control over any of it. So I would say, this line means wherever you focus your love for something or someone, you’ll do it without hesitation. Fully focused and in control.” I laugh at how opposite that sounds from the life I’m living.
“Why is that funny?” he asks quietly, smiling as he stares at my lips.
On a sigh, I answer, “That must be nice.”
