Forgot To Tell You Something: An Angsty, Later in Life Romance
Forgot To Tell You Something: Chapter 1

“Ugh, the floor is sticky, and what is that smell?”

I swing my gaze over to Stefani, her button nose scrunched in disgust. “That smell is smoke and sweat, and you don’t want to know what’s on the floor. Do yourself a favor—remain upright. There’s all manner of bodily fluids down there.”

I choke back a laugh at her horrified expression. To be honest, I’m not positive there is any blood or urine on the floor, but I wouldn’t put it past Wicked Chucks. It’s the epitome of a dive bar, but they sure know how to bring together the underground punk and rockabilly community.

“Great. Now, I need to boil all my extremities.” Stefani waves her hand in the air after touching one of the black concrete walls, as if the bubonic plague is alive and well within the paint.

“Stef, correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you the one who wanted to come here?”

“You come here all the time, Lu.”

“You’re not me.” That is the understatement of the century. Stefani is my polar opposite—tall and lanky with huge tits and a face that makes men forget their own names. Did I mention the size of her breasts? They can double as flotation devices should the need arise. They’re not God given, but ask any man tripping over their own tongue as she walks by if they care. Simple answer—not one bit.

Then there’s me—the anti-Stefani. Standing next to her willowy frame, I might be mistaken for her pet chihuahua. I’m a foot shorter with enormous eyes hidden behind tortoiseshell frames and a mouth lacking any sort of filter. I guess God forgot to install one of those bad boys before I was shipped down here. Hell, sometimes I even surprise myself with the statements flowing from my lips.

But, despite the polar opposition in the looks department, I love this woman something fierce. Stefani is my ride or die. While she’s more Givenchy than counterculture, she’s hardcore loyalty and heart. So, the whole gorgeous supermodel vibe? Something I happily accept. Okay, not happily. There’s a shred—or ten—of jealousy that she is Heidi Klum’s doppelgänger, but I’m also aware that most men see nothing past her looks.

And most men don’t see me at all.

“These guys are hot as hell, though.” Stefani surveys the crowd, her lashes fluttering, but I’m not sure if it’s a seductive flirtation or the weight of her falsies. “I understand why you like the place.”

“I don’t come here to pick up guys.”

“You need to get laid, Lu.”

I can argue her suggestion, but it’s true. A painful, pathetic truth. I haven’t had sex in over two years, and even then, it was hardly memorable. Actually, it was only noteworthy because it was such a lousy lay. “I don’t remember what good sex feels like,” I grumble, downing the last swig of my beer.

“Can I give you some advice?”

I’m shaking my head before Stefani finishes her sentence. I know exactly what she’s going to say. I also know she’s going to ignore me and plow ahead with her well-intentioned statement.

“Throw out the rule book.”

See what I mean?

“Contrary to what you might think, Stefani, I don’t have that many rules. I’m just particular. Besides, my rules keep me safe. You might try getting a few of your own.”

She chews her bottom lip, considering my advice. I’m not alone in the bad boyfriend department. Stefani’s heart has been used as a punching bag more times than I can count. But, unlike me, she still believes in fated love.

I envy her optimism.

I shake my empty bottle in Dan’s direction, and he wastes no time bringing me a refill. The man is not only a kick-ass bartender, but he’s also a card-carrying member of my ride or die crew. We hit it off immediately the night I dared to enter Wicked Chucks alone, and he elected himself my personal bodyguard. The sad part? Dan earned his title that same evening, fending off a drunken buffoon who got a bit handsy. But luckily, he doesn’t hold it against me.

“What’s up, Strawberry Shortcake?” Dan jokes, tugging on my unicorn pink locks.

I scrunch up my face. So much for looking sultry; I apparently resemble a cartoon character.

Stefani, as always, has my back. “I like the pink. It’s funky, like you,” she states, pulling her hand through my hair with reassuring strokes.

I stick out my tongue in Dan’s direction. “See? I’m cool.”

“You don’t need pink hair to be cool, Tallulah,” Dan reminds me with a wink.

“This coming from electric blue boy,” I retort, as I offer a pointed stare at his bright azure hair, gelled into short spikes.

“You got me there,” Dan chuckles, turning away to serve another customer.

“He’s beautiful,” Stefani murmurs, giving me a hip check as we lounge against the bar. Her eyes track Dan from one end of the floor to the other. “He has a great laugh.”

“Agreed.” I love Dan’s laugh—it holds nothing back, and it’s fiercely genuine. The truth is, most of the people in Wicked Chucks are genuine. Oh, they can be assholes, but they own that facet of their personality. Hell, they’re proud of it. It took years of training to grind their uncouth states to a fine edge.

It’s a motley bunch, but I replace the honesty in this group of rag-tag punk rockers highly refreshing in a world hellbent on half-truths.

“Is he single?” Stefani presses, jostling me back to the melee of the moment.

“Define single.” Dan has his choice of women, a rotating harem that fulfills any of his physical desires, at a moment’s notice.

But his loose tendencies aren’t because of an overinflated ego. It’s a mode of protection.

Keep your heart unreachable, and no one can crash in and mangle it. In that regard, Dan and I are kismet. If only I felt anything beyond friendship for him, and vice versa, our lives would be set.

No such luck.

“Don’t tell me, he’s one of those guys.” Stefani fluffs her waves, releasing a huff of resignation.

“He’s not one of those guys. He’s single, but he’s not celibate. However, I have it on good authority that he’d love to fall head over heels for some lucky lady.”

“Are you hoping to be that lucky lady?”

I sputter my beer. “No, not at all. We are 100% platonic.” I cock my chin at her, a smile coloring my lips. “You’re interested, aren’t you?”

Before she can answer, Dan re-enters the conversation. The man has perfect timing on lockdown. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“No, I plan on being rude the rest of the evening,” I volley back, smirking at the come-hither gazes my friends are exchanging. If anyone can tame Dan, it’s Stefani.

“Since Tallulah is refusing to cooperate, I’ll take the reins on this one. I’m Dan, pleasure to meet you.”

“I’m Stefani. I work with Lu,” she coos, extending her hand in greeting, her smile showcasing perfect white teeth.

Poor Dan doesn’t stand a chance.

It’s funny, but the old adage that opposites attract holds true in this scenario. Dan and Stefani are a mismatched set. She looks like she sauntered off the catwalks of Milan, while Dan would sooner gouge his eyes out than sit for a fashion show. Come to think of it, so would I.

But he is terminally good-looking, from his square jaw to his piercing, dark eyes, and it’s apparent from Stefani’s nervous titter that his charm is working its magic.

Feedback echoes from the front of the bar, and the locals gravitate toward the stage. Time to hightail it to my hiding spot.

“Hey, Dan, is my balcony available?” I question, nodding my head toward the back of the bar. Wicked Chucks wasn’t always a punk dive. In its heyday, it was a community theater, complete with velvet curtains and box seat balconies. For obvious reasons, the balconies are closed to the general public, although the staff still uses them for storage and all manner of illicit activity.

After the unfortunate manhandling incident on my inaugural visit to Wicked Chucks, Dan granted me access to one of the balconies. I left him little choice, especially when I threatened to show up solo to a show the following evening. Per him, he’d much rather seat me up there, away from the noise and hoodlums on the floor. Hell, it’s also the best view in the house.

“Tallulah, would I ever deny you your balcony?” His gaze returns to Stefani. “Will you be joining your friend, or can I convince you to park it here?”

Stefani glances at me, a puppy dog expression crossing her face.

Okay, Stef, you can stay and play.

“I think I’ll stay down here for a bit, so long as I’m not bothering you, Dan.”

“You’re never a bother. But I will ask you to move to this side of the bar. It’s safer. More private.”

That’s Dan-speak for tucked away in a corner where other ogling men have less of a view. Well played, my friend.

Dan hands me another beer with a wicked grin. “You’re on your own, young lady.”

“So, like every other night, basically. Take good care of Stefani. Anything happens, I’m holding you personally responsible.” With a final wink, I leave the burgeoning lovebirds and stroll upstairs.

I hope they hit it off. Someone should get laid tonight, and I know it isn’t going to be me. I envy Stefani and Dan—they make the game of flirtation look easy. When I attempt flirting, I feel like a hack, a teenager who stole her mom’s dress and is trying to pass for a lady.

In other words? It isn’t pretty.

As I climb the stairs to the balcony, I realize that the floor’s stickiness extends to the second level, and I’m thankful for the dim lighting. I really don’t want to know what happened here the other night.

Using my hip, I heave the oak door with a grunt, losing my balance as the door swings open from the other side.

Large hands grab me before I tumble to the floor, and I replace myself staring into the eyes of the most drop-dead gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.

“And here I thought I was helping. You okay?” He smiles, showing perfect white teeth nestled against a neatly trimmed beard.

“Nice catch. You must have played football in high school.” I offer him my unopened beer with a chuckle. “Payment for your troubles?”

“Your timing is impeccable. I was about to head back down and fight the crowd.”

I shrug and wrap my hand around the neck of the bottle. “If you prefer to wait in line, be my guest.”

Another smile, his fingers firmly attached to the beer. “I’ll take you up on your generous offer and buy you a replacement when we head downstairs. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough.” I shoot him a glance, my nose scrunching as I examine him. This must be his first time at the club, because I’ve never seen him before, and he is definitely not a face you forget. “Do they know you’re up here?”

He chuckles, sipping his beer. “I was planning on robbing the place, so I figured it best if I kept a low profile.”

“You’ve got a bit of a wait. They won’t have any money in the tills for another couple of hours. Until then, I suppose you can hang out in my balcony.”

“Your balcony, huh? I don’t see a sign. Do you have a deed handy?”

I nod, pointing at the worn velvet sofa. “Absolutely. Signed my name in blood and swore an oath on a goat.”

That did it. His laugh is full-blown now, gravelly and sexy as hell. “You’re that woman. I’ve heard about you.”

“All bad things, I’m sure…and they’re all true.” I swig down a mouthful of beer, offering up a saucy grin.

“What’s your name, Darlin?”

Wow, I really like his use of that pet name. Usually, I loathe cheeky nicknames, but from his lips, it’s the most enticing two syllables I’ve ever heard.

“Tallulah.”

He extends his hand in greeting. I expect to see a working man’s hands—banged up with dirt under the nails and ink across the digits. Fairly standard for this scene. But his fingers are long, lean, and without a single tattoo. Unexpected. “I’m Owen. Pleasure meeting the owner of this fine establishment.”

Usually, I’m spot on with a clever retort or comeback. What I lack in flirtatious ability, I make up for in wit. But this time, my mind blanks as I meet his gaze. I’m mesmerized by the feel of his hand engulfing mine and the warmth spreading through my body. “You too,” I stammer, finally replaceing my voice.

“That’s a beautiful name.”

Earth to Tallulah, snap out of it. What is wrong with me tonight?

I’m the homegirl all the guys kick back with, not the fluttery eyed doe who can’t add two and two.

Or at least I was until Owen wandered into my balcony.

“They named me after my grandmother.”

Owen nods, his gaze focused on the crowd below. “It’s an unusual moniker, but then again, so are you.”

My heart sinks at his statement, but I’m not surprised. His words are par for the course. Some women are beautiful, lush, and sensuous. I’m unusual. But this time, the descriptor stings like hell. On the plus side, at least now I can relax. The man isn’t interested.

“I’m also geeky and klutzy. You wouldn’t want to forget those adjectives,” I shrug, trying to play off Owen’s unintentional kick to my ego.

Owen chuckles. “I agree with the klutzy part, but how are you geeky?”

I point at the tortoiseshell rims on my face. “Glasses.”

“I think a woman in glasses is sexy…particularly one who’s got a kick-ass sense of humor.”

“You’re just saying that, so I don’t kick you out of my balcony.” Although I’m sure his compliment was an offhanded offering, my ego appreciates the bolster. Sexy siren, I am not.

“You got me pegged.” There’s that laugh again, and once more, it sends tingles up my spine. It’s as if each note dances along my nerve-endings, short-circuiting my body.

While he observes the increasingly raucous crowd, I take the opportunity to steal glances in his direction. Owen is gorgeous. Drop-dead delectable. He’s tall and broad, with sleeves of tattoos covering both arms, the ink traveling up to what I surmise is a firm and sculpted chest. His dark hair is buzzed close to his head, and a neatly trimmed beard adorns his face. But it’s his eyes, dark gray like a sky right before a storm, that hold me captive.

“They all tell a story,” he murmurs, his gaze swinging back in my direction.

“What?” Crap, he caught me looking at him.

“You were checking out my ink, right?”

Sure, we’ll go with that answer. “I’m a fan of tats. I have several of my own.”

“You know you have to show me now.”

If there’s one thing I’m not shy about, it’s my body art. I’ve spent years—and thousands of dollars—decorating my skin with designs from some of the country’s top tattoo artists. I’m not covered like Owen, but my pieces are anything but flash.

I lift the cuff of my jean to show him the artwork on my calf, but Owen has other ideas as his fingers slide along my upper arm.

“This is a beautiful piece. The linework is exquisite.” He lifts my shirt, examining the half-sleeve design of flowers and fairies.

“Thanks,” I laugh, shaking my head. “I don’t know why I said thank you. I didn’t design it.”

“You selected a terrific artist, and that’s half the battle.”

“Munoz, out of Miami.” My eyes travel down to his fingers, still pressing against my skin. “It’s one of my favorite pieces.”

“I’ve read about Munoz, but now I know he does quality work.”

I startle when his fingers creep under the hem on my t-shirt, exposing my side piece.

“Ticklish?”

“Yes,” I mumble. I am ticklish, but that’s not the issue. My body is quickly overheating from this man’s caresses. The worst part? They’re not caresses; he’s just examining my ink. Now tell that to my sex-starved body, all fired up and ready for action.

Stefani is right. I need to get laid.

The feedback sounding from one of the amps rattles me from my Owen-induced stupor. Enough fuzziness and feels, it’s time for a bit of rage-filled anarchy.

“Game time.” I perch on the back of the sofa, fully expecting this gorgeous demagogue to disappear downstairs for a close-up view of the band.

Instead, Owen settles next to me with a wink. Surprising. I glance toward the bar, ensuring that Stefani is still in one piece and not an unwitting crowd surfer. I replace her tucked into the far corner, chatting up some dude with a mohawk. Even here, totally out of her element, my friend draws men to her like bees to nectar.

“You’re staying?” I inquire, taking another swallow of beer. At the rate I’m drinking, I’ll need a refill before they finish the first song.

“Are you kicking me out, Tally?”

I cock my head at the nickname. “Everyone calls me Lu. My Dad is the only person who calls me Tally.”

“I prefer it to Lu. So, is it cool for me to stay?”

I tap my finger against my chin. “Hmm, maybe.”

“What if I show you a kick-ass card trick? One you won’t be able to figure out.”

“You carry around a deck of cards?”

“Just for this occasion,” Owen volleys back.

“Fine. If—and only if—it’s a really good trick, I’ll let you share my balcony.”

“How magnanimous, Tally.”

I’ve seen plenty of card tricks in my years, some better than most. But his trick puts all the others to shame. I’m not certain if it’s the dexterity with which Owen shuffles the cards or his smooth, gravelly voice serving as a distraction, but he selects my card. Every. Single. Time.

“That is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.” I’m fully aware that my grin matches the Cheshire Cat’s, but the trick blew my mind.

Actually, Owen is blowing my mind.

“Told you. So, now we’re partners.” He extends his hand to seal the deal.

My eyes narrow in confusion. “Partners?”

“Co-owners of the balcony, and this uncomfortable as hell couch.”

“Hey, leave my couch alone. Don’t you enjoy a spring in your ass?”

“Not at all. Are you going to leave me hanging?” he inquires, motioning to his still outstretched hand.

I throw back my head, laughing. “Fair is fair. I never renege on a deal.”

A sexy smirk breaks across Owen’s mouth as his tongue glides along his lower lip, and my body clenches. Again.

Calm your tits, hormones. It wasn’t an overt gesture.

“You’re really beautiful when you smile, Tally.”

His compliment catches me off-guard. “Thanks.”

“You look surprised that I said that.”

“I’m the cool, fun, funky chick. It’s nice to be beautiful for a change.”

He reaches up, tugging at my pink locks. “I have a feeling you’re always beautiful. You’re one of those women that wakes up looking like you did when you went to sleep.”

I snort my sip of beer. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m like everyone else in the morning—a hot mess.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he replies, breaking his gaze from mine to focus on the people below.

I take a second to process his words. Owen did not just intimate a sleepover. Did he? Well, wouldn’t that be a hundred shades of deliciousness?

I release a slow exhale, trying in vain to calm my nerves. “I might have to go rescue my friend.”

Owen follows my hand as I point out Stefani, still huddled at the bar. “The blonde?”

Yes, with the knockout body and perfect profile.

“She’s a looker, isn’t she?”

But Owen doesn’t commiserate with my statement. Hell, he doesn’t even acknowledge it. “She doesn’t appear in desperate need of a rescue.”

“If you can’t tell, she’s not a regular, so I want to keep my eye on her. Jump in should the need arise.”

Owen bites back a laugh, shaking his head as he clinks my beer bottle with his own.

“What’s so funny?” I demand.

“You are.”

“How so?” What did I say now?

“How tall are you, Tally? No offense, but you’re not exactly intimidating.”

I cross my arms over my chest, sending him my best fake glare. “You forget that you’re talking to the blood oath goat girl. I’m scary as hell.”

“Clearly.” And clearly, he doesn’t believe a word I say. Granted, he is at least a foot taller than me, but that’s hardly difficult. I barely tip the scales at five feet.

“Look. It’s my mantra.” I direct his attention to my top, noting the irony that I wore it this evening. It proclaims, ‘I’m too short for this shit (me, with almost everything)’.

His eyes skate over my shirt, and I swear he lingers a few extra seconds on my tits. Boys will be boys.

“Apropos, indeed.” Despite Owen’s unmistakable bad-boy exterior, he doesn’t behave—or speak—like the typical punk rocker. He possesses a quiet grace and power, exuding an air of importance without the usual cockiness or bravado.

I want to know more about this man. Much, much more. Even if he thinks I’m klutzy and a poor excuse for a guard dog.

“It’s a good crowd tonight. Surprising for a Wednesday.”

“Wicked Chuck’s may be part of the underground scene, but it’s well known in the area.” I take in the ever-growing sea of humans below us, wondering how long we have until one, or several, break into some form of violence. “It will be off the chain crowded tomorrow.”

“That’s right. Hedgecore plays tomorrow night.” Owen shifts his attention to my face, those gray eyes studying me. “Are you a fan?”

He’s kidding, right? “Am I a fan of Hedgecore? They’re only one of the greatest rockabilly bands in the history of the world.”

He chuckles, taking a pull from his bottle. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

I hold up my fingers. “Just a bit.”

“I’ll be seeing you tomorrow night, then, too.”

I scrunch up my face in confusion, even as my insides flash with warmth at the idea of seeing this man again. “Huh?”

“At the concert.”

My ego deflates to its standard size as I deduce his statement. “I wasn’t able to get a ticket. They sold out before I got one.”

He taps the beer bottle against his boot, clearing his throat. “That’s a shame.”

“It is. I guess you’re a lucky bastard with a ticket?”

Owen nods, chuckling. “I am definitely a lucky bastard. I’m also in need of a refill. You ready for another?” He motions to my empty beer bottle, which I gladly hand over.

“Thanks. I’ll hold down the fort.”

With a grin, Owen ducks out the door, and I release a breath I wasn’t aware I’d been holding. Holy God, where did that man come from?

Owen is, without a doubt, the sexiest slice of heaven I’ve ever met, and if his nimble fingers are anything to go on, he’s talented in other areas, as well. Several other areas. Wouldn’t I love to test that theory…over and over again.

I don’t get all tongue-tied and fluttery over men, but Owen is not most men. Even better, he’s hanging out here with me, when there’s a bar full of eager recipients for anything he might be offering.

I peer over the railing, hoping to catch a glimpse of Owen. Even with the crowd, he’s easy to spot. Especially since he’s talking to Stefani.

I remind my crushed hopes that this is not unexpected. Stefani is gorgeous. Owen is gorgeous. Besides, I did mention that she’s my friend. Like a jealous voyeur, I study their interactions as Owen accepts a couple of beer bottles and points to the balcony. Stefani nods, flashing him a brilliant smile.

Any glitter from my flirtation with Owen drifts to the ground. Time to slip back into my tried-and-true role—the cool chick, the buddy, the friend.

With a huffed sigh, I flop back against the sofa cushion. For once, I’d like to be the beauty queen, let someone else play my role for the evening.

“Here you go, Darlin.” A beer bottle wags under my nose, and I accept the offering with a smile.

“Thanks. I appreciate it, but you didn’t have to get me a beer.”

“I owed you one.”

I nod, picking at the label on the bottle. “I see you met Stefani.”

“You saw that? Wow, you do have eyes everywhere.”

“I wasn’t snooping. I was just—”

“Checking up on her. I get it. I introduced myself and let her know where we were.”

“So she could join us?”

“No, so she wouldn’t worry.” Owen shifts on the cushion, pivoting to face me. “How much do you really like Hedgecore?”

“Is that a trick question? I like them more than Santa and the Easter Bunny combined.”

“What about the Tooth Fairy?”

“Nah, she and I aren’t on speaking terms.”

“What would you say if I told you that I got you a ticket for the concert tomorrow?”

My eyes widen as my fingers clutch my beer. He’s joking. He must be joking. “I would say you’re full of crap. It’s sold out.”

“I got you a ticket, Tally, but there is one catch.”

I groan, taking a swig of the cold brew. “I knew it! I have to ride in your backpack, don’t I?”

There’s that smile again. Each time, it’s more vivid than the last. “How did you guess? I don’t doubt that you would.”

My grin matches his. “I totally would.”

His fingers reach out, tracing along my knee in an unexpected tingle fest. “The catch is that you have to go with me.”

I’m hearing things. Yep, it finally happened—that unfortunate LSD incident when I was a teenager has caught up to me. “You want to go to Hedgecore with me?”

Instead of moving away, he slides his hand under my thigh, his fingers tightening around my leg. “Very much so. What do you say?”

I’m an affectionate person, but I’m also highly selective with whom gets that attention. Owen has earned it in spades, whether or not he wants it.

Throwing my hands around his neck, I let out a squeal of excitement. “Oh my God, how fabulous!”

If I thought it was tricky sitting next to the man, it’s damn near impossible to calm my hormones when our bodies press together. Add in his arms wrapping around my frame, and the situation turns downright electric.

“I like you excited,” he murmurs, that gorgeous mouth dangerously close to my own.

My gaze travels down his face. Bad idea. His lips are full and soft and look like they could do all manner of naughty things to my body.

The clang of guitars sounds from the stage, ending our moment. I push myself off Owen and reclaim my perch on the back of the couch, trying not to read into the fact that instead of releasing me, his fingers tightened when I pulled away.

As if he didn’t want to let go, either.

Just this once, I wish I could flirt. Bat my eyes and play the role of the damsel in distress, desperately in need of male attention. Men eat up that shit.

I suck at flirting. That’s why I’m the cool chick. I can discuss any manner of topics—from music to politics to sports—but feminine wiles? God neglected to install those on the same day he forgot my filter.

So, instead of pretending to be someone I am not, I let down my guard. I banter with Owen about the musicians of today and how they lack any real depth. Musically, the man is my twin. We adore the same genres, albums, and songs. An added bonus? The more I drink, the more my awkwardness falls away. Or the less I notice it, anyway.

When the band plays their cover of ‘Girlfriend in a Coma’, I let out a squeal of excitement. I adore The Smiths, and this song puts me in my happy place. As the music washes over me, I fall into the beat, forgetting that tonight, I’m not alone.

As the song plays, my gaze slides over to Owen. He’s not even subtle as he watches me dance, his eyes moving over my body, a heated expression on his features.

I’m grateful for the dim lighting as a flush rushes over my cheeks. “I love that song.”

“I can tell.” Now those dark gray eyes lock onto mine, but the smoldering expression remains. “After seeing you dance, I’ll have to add that song to my playlist.”

I know it’s harmless flirting, but my sex-deprived body lights up like New Orleans in February.

Once again, I lack a comeback. So much for the cool chick persona. With a sigh, I pop off the couch. I need a refill and now seems as good a time as any to regain my emotional footing. “I’m headed to the bar. Can you move your legs?” I request, sending his outstretched, booted legs a pointed look.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

Owen nods, putting his hands behind his head. “What’s the magic word?”

“If you think I won’t climb over you to get to another beer, you are sadly mistaken.”

“Is that so? This, I might have to see.”

“Are you really going to make me climb?” Please say yes.

“It depends. How badly do you want the beer?”

I’ve never had this much fun bantering with a man. Owen is in a class by himself. “Suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I hoist my leg over his, wishing in this scenario that I was a few inches taller. As it stands, I’m practically grinding against him. I lift my other leg to cross over him, but Owen widens his stance, and I collapse on his lap.

The beer bottle slips from my fingers, but Owen catches it in a move that would make Joe Montana weep. His other hand wraps around my hip, his fingers dancing ever so slightly across my back. “Sorry about that.”

Judging by the smirk on his face, the man isn’t sorry, but neither am I. In fact, I’m tempted to wrap my legs around his waist and lock him in my grasp, never to escape. Instead, I focus my gaze on the serpent wrapped around his bicep. Without thinking, my finger reaches out, tracing the lines of the tattoo. “Is this the creation story?”

Owen’s breath hitches as my nails drift along his skin. Good to know our proximity is having an equally unnerving effect on him. “It’s my adaptation of it.”

“Where else are you inked?”

Another catch in his breathing, his fingers sliding up my spine and pulling my body tight against him. His lips hover at my ear, his beard causing all manner of tingles. “Everywhere, Tally. My best work is in places reserved for very few people to see.”

“That’s a shame. I’d like to see them.” Holy shit, did that brazen remark fall out of my mouth?

His hands slide from my hips to cup my ass, and this time, I know it’s not an accidental slip. “You will, Darlin.”

Everything—the noise, the lights, the din, fall away as I hold his stare. I’m pressed against him, and it’s impossible not to feel the erection straining his jeans. I shift ever so slightly against him, biting my lip to hold back the grin when a low moan falls from his mouth. “Little girl, you’d better behave.”

“Or what?” Another shift earns a second moan, his fingers tightening around my ass cheeks.

“I’m going to do what I’ve wanted to do since the first moment I laid eyes on you.”

I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol or overactive hormones, but my bravery suddenly knows no bounds. My hand strokes the back of Owen’s neck and along his scalp, feeling the smoothness of his skin. “What would that be?”

Owen doesn’t get a chance to answer my question as Stefani’s lilting voice cuts into the moment. “Lu, are you up here? Where are you?”

Owen’s hands drop to his side, his head falling forward. “Perfect timing,” he mutters, but I catch his smile.

Perfect timing is right. Perfectly awful.

“That would be Stefani,” I mumble, forcing myself to a standing position.

My friend’s eyes widen when she catches sight of me in the middle of climbing off Owen. “Oh shit, am I interrupting something? I can leave, it was just getting scary down there.”

Sometimes, I hate being a good friend, but I promised to keep an eye on Stefani, and the drunken crowd is turning rowdy.

“You’re fine, Stefani,” Owen assures her. “Tally was proving a point.”

My buzz from Owen’s caresses fades into the din of the music. Was that what I was doing?

“What point was that?” Stefani’s gaze moves to me, curious for my explanation.

“How my determination to get a beer is unmatched. Owen wouldn’t move his legs, so I was climbing him. What’s a thirsty girl to do?”

My friend’s eyes rove over Owen, drinking in every sexy morsel. “You wouldn’t let her through?”

“I thought I’d make it more interesting,” Owen replies, stretching his legs out to rest on the edge of the balcony as his gray eyes hold mine. “Tally isn’t one to back down, but I do love a challenge.”

“She’s a tough one,” Stefani concurs, smiling at Owen. Crap. I know that smile. I’ve seen it a million times. It doesn’t help that my friend has consumed at least three or four drinks. The more she imbibes, the better her flirting tactics. I’ve never seen anything like it. “Lu, would you get me another beer, too?”

“You were just downstairs,” I argue, desperate not to leave Stefani alone with Owen.

“I know, but these shoes are killing my feet,” Stefani pouts, plopping onto the couch and slipping off one of her stilettos. “I’ll keep Owen company while you’re gone.”

“Tally, I can go get the beers,” Owen offers, but I wave away his suggestion.

“You got the last one, remember?” I don’t wait for his reply, turning on my heel and yanking open the door. I can’t read Owen’s expression, but I know what Stefani has in mind for my sexy balcony cohort.

The worst part? If Owen is like any other man on the planet, he doesn’t stand a chance.

But just this once, I hope Owen is immune.