Drake…” His neck and chest flex slightly under my tight grasp. I grip him more tightly, brushing tickling kisses along his collar bone.
The little groan that rasps from his throat gets into my own chest, spreading through me in a lazy tendril that seems to center in between my legs. I feel Barrett shift his hips, and slide my hand down his flat abs until I feel his hardness.
“Gwen.” It’s practically a sigh.
“So hot.” I rub him.
“Stop.” The word is hung between a moan and chuckle. “Damn, Piglet. I’m gonna need another pair of pants.”
I giggle evilly. It’s a good thing that our food comes moments later. We chat as we eat, the conversation never dipping as deep as it did a little earlier. We’re almost finished eating and have just realized we’re both NFL fans when my phone rings.
“Oops, forgot to cut it off.” I fish it out of my purse. “Jamie. Hey, I bet she wants to—”
Talk to him. But Barrett’s standing. “Bathroom,” he mouths with his signature small, dimpled smile. It’s such a peaceful smile. A happy smile. Mine.
The word streaks through my brain as I answer Jamie, so it’s forgotten as she asks to Facetime Bear and me, and I give her a rain check from us.
“He’s kind of the quiet type, remember?”
“So? I’m your bestie. Tell homeboy to pony up.”
I laugh. We’re off the phone by the time Barrett comes back. As we wait for the check, he and I debate whether this should be Peyton Manning’s last season, and before I realize what’s the what, our waiter comes, and Barrett sends him off with his card.
I catch his hand in mine. “You don’t need to do that.”
He brings my hand up to his mouth, kissing my knuckles. “It makes me happy to take care of you.”
We leave the restaurant holding hands, me with the rose in my free hand. We pass a Native American craft store as we head toward my car.
“Do you mind if we go in?” he asks.
“Let’s do it.” I have a thing for pottery and handmade jewelry, not surprising when I think about the kinds of crafts that adorned my childhood home.
“I’ve got a Native friend. Native American. He used to have a dream catcher, when we’d be at different outposts.”
“You want one? That’s a nice idea.”
“His broke. He mentioned it a while back, so…” He shrugs.
My God, this man is sweet. And gorgeous. I admire him in the soft, purpleish light emanating from a stone-looking lamp just inside the shop. I’m checking out Bear’s amazing bicep when something behind him catches my eye. Is that— Oh, yes! That’s a dude mood ring.
I keep myself from glancing over at it while we pick out a beautiful dream catcher for Bear’s friend, and then one for my room. As we move toward the register, I grab his hand and point toward the door we came through. There’s a soda machine across the courtyard.
“Could I convince you to grab me a drink?” I ask him, pointing. “Just something carbonated, while I pay for this? My stomach kind of hurts.”
His thick brows draw together. “Of course.” He brushes a kiss over my hair and looks around the shop, taking in the short, gray-haired woman behind the counter before he walks back outside. Swaggers, really. Lord, that ass.
I jump slightly as someone moves behind me, turning on my heel to see a tallish, red-haired guy standing in the doorway punched into the pottery wall. Judging by the landscape behind his wide shoulders, I guess it’s an adjoining door that leads into a moccasin store. His eye catches mine for half a second before he turns and walks slowly back into moccasin land. I figure he must work there.
With a quick glance out the window, I race to the ring display, grabbing one I pray is his size and paying for it and the two dream catchers before he comes through the door. We leave a few minutes later, clasping hands while Barrett carries the bag with the dream catchers and I harbor his ring in my pocket.
“So, Dove,” I say as we stroll along the sidewalk. “That’s his real name?”
He gives me a strange look. “Seth. Dove is his tribal name, I guess you’d call it.”
“That’s cool. Is he nice?”
“He is.” Bear’s hand catches mine, his gaze warm on my gaze as our fingers intertwine. “Lives out in bumfuck nowhere with his wife, a writer.”
“Ah, so, married. He’s retired like you?”
Bear nods. I sense