I take a sip of my beer, my heart going feral behind my ribs. “No, I just mean…” I wince. “You’re, like…attractive. And nice. And stuff. Obviously.”
I mentally smack my palm against my forehead, hating how I’ve suddenly turned into a complete moron.
“Well, thank you,” he says, smile soft and genuine. “I think you’re, like,attractive and nice and stuff, too.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, but this time flattery joins my embarrassment.
His eyes stay on mine, and I’m mesmerized by them; the earthy tones dancing around the orange swirls within them, like embers caught in a slow living flame, God creating the Heavens and the Earth.
“Your turn,” he says. “Tell me something about your childhood.”
I mentally gulp, immediately wishing I’d never asked him something so invasive in the first place.
I wrack my brain for something—anything—that doesn’t feel so heavy and ugly. Something that won’t drag my whole past into the light.
“Uh…” I stall, grasping for an alternative, but the truth I land on is the safest one I’ve got—especially this buzzed. “I, um… I never had a Christmas tree.”
He eyes me questioningly. “Like you never had a real one, or…you never had a tree at all?”
“At all.” I cringe inwardly, unsure why I said it out loud. “I mean, we celebrated Christmas. We just…didn’t really do the extra stuff. The lights. The presents.”
It’s the cleanest way I can explain being dirt poor—having a father too drunk to notice the calendar, let alone keep the lights on.
“Huh,” Jake breathes, and suddenly, I’m acutely aware of myself. Heat creeps up my neck as more embarrassment settles in. I wish I could take it back. Swallow the words. Swallow the whole conversation.This is why I don’t talk to people.
“That’s rough,” he says finally. “It doesn’t really feel like Christmas without a tree.”
I nod, biting the inside of my cheek, forcing a thousand sharp memories to stay buried.
“Well,” he adds, a small grin tugging at his mouth, “I guess we’ll have to fix that.”
My eyes shoot to his in utter surprise, and a smile blooms on my lips at the warmth in his eyes. There isn't an ounce of judgement in them. Just pure acceptance of the small truth I was reluctant to share.
There’s a slight shift in the air surrounding us, the walls of being strangers quickly dissipating like vapor in the wind. And for some reason, I find myself leaning dangerously into it.
“So how long are you kidnapping me for?” he asks playfully. My mind jumps to wondering if he’s actually ready to go. If he truly is done with our time together and would rather be left alone.
“This is hardly a kidnapping,” I defend.
“Oh, it’s a kidnapping. First you take me against my will, then you feed me drugs.”
I scoff. “It’s some beer and a couple shots, you drama queen.”
“All I know is I was tricked. And that’s what I’ll tell the police after I report you, kidnapper.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I say, low and threatening. I narrow my eyes at him, my head leaning forward across the small table.
“Oh, but Iwould,” he replies, matching my challenge. His face is mere inches from mine, and I can smell the sweetness of his breath.
We hold each other's gaze, the corners of our mouths tipping up into flirty smiles. Whoever breaks first loses. And I already know it’s going to be me.
“Fine,” I cave. “I’ll play you for it.”
“For what?”
“Your freedom,” I say with a devilish grin.
I grab my second beer, leaving the empty one behind as I waltz over to the pool table that still operates by quarters. I set my beer down and slip four coins into the slots before pushing it in like an old vending machine.
