Big Bad Boys A Romance Collection - Penny Wylder Page 0,191

shoulders.

“How about not giving her the third degree right off the bat, huh, dude?” He’s grinning, but something about their postures tells me there’s more going on here than meets the eye. They’re both joking, but Nick is asking Zayne something else, I think. Something that I can’t quite put my finger on.

I shrug it off when Zayne leads me to a back table. I don’t need to figure out his friends. I’m not here for them, after all.

We take a seat in a far corner, a cozy little spot that I could definitely get used to. It’s the kind of local dive that I love best—not too pricey, not too crowded. Just the right number of locals who know each other’s names, and a bartender who remembers their favorite drinks.

We sip on Nick’s specialty cocktail and talk a little bit about the neighborhood. Zayne grew up here, apparently, and before long, he’s regaling me with stories of what this place used to be like when he was young. He’s only a couple years older than me, I learn, which surprises me. He has one of those faces that could pass for almost any age between 28 and 40.

Still, for only being 31, he knows a lot about the history of this spot. This pub has apparently been here all along, one of the only institutions that survived the real estate crash and then the following real estate explosion a few years later when rent prices started to recover. There used to be a big park next door, but about fifteen years ago they razed it to put up another apartment complex, and then in turn razed that to build a bigger, fancier complex.

It’s intriguing hearing about all this history. I never really thought about the neighborhood, about what it used to be like before I moved in. Now it’s ritzy as hell, with tons of boutique shops and fancy restaurants on every corner. I don’t mind that at all, but it’s strange to think of what it must have been like for Zayne. To grow up here, to watch his neighborhood go through so many transformations.

I tell him about my old neighborhood where I grew up, out in west Ohio. It was a tiny town, barely a blip on any map. Even locals had hardly heard of it. I had 50 people in my high school graduating class. He laughs at that. I describe our weekend pastimes—yes, cow-tipping was a real thing. No, we never actually managed to push a cow over. Though one time my brother did get kicked in the shin while trying.

Before I realize it, we’re on our third round of drinks, the first two compliments of the house, and I’m feeling them. Not to mention, with every round, we’ve inched closer together, going from sitting across from one another at this table to side-by-side, to now, with Zayne’s leg and side pressed against mine. I can feel his hips as he shifts in his chair, leans closer against me. A spark flies through me when he drapes his arm over the back of my chair, letting his fingertips trail along my bicep.

“So,” he murmurs, against my ear when we’re halfway through our third drinks. “Earlier…”

“Mmhmm?” I tilt toward him, distracted by the faint graze of his lips against my earlobe, and the continued tingles along my arm as he traces his fingers lazily over my skin.

“You were going to return my favor.”

I cast a sideways glance at him and find him grinning at me, a spark of mischief in his bright blue eyes. “What, here?”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Well, we aren’t at the café anymore. And you know, they do have a bathroom…” His eyes dart to the far wall, to a little corridor that leads to the single stall at the back of the bar. It’s only just visible from here, and not viewable from the rest of the bar since it’s around a corner.

When I look back at him, I’m pretty sure my eyes are alight with the same kind of mischief. “Good point. So, you want me to go in there and…” I trace a fingertip down his chest, pause to tug gently at the collar of his shirt. “Strip?”

“Just your top, if you prefer.” He lets his gaze drop to my chest. “Though, I won’t complain if you want to take off more…”

“That’s going to cost you a lot more than just a dick pic,” I reply, leaning in to let