Page 12 of If Only In Our Dreams

“Yes,” Robin nodded.

“I have two little girls back home. You’d have to do a lot more than paint my nails to frighten me.”

“Is that a challenge?” Robin puffed up, looking oddly excited. We were never going to see each other again, so I figured there was no harm in agreeing to his little game.

“Yes,” I agreed.

“Deal.” Robin held a hand out, waiting expectantly. I hesitated for only a moment before taking it within my own and giving it a tight squeeze. He was cold. That was the first thing I noticed. Poor baby needed gloves or a warmer coat if he was going to survive Vermont.

Maybe this was just a layover for him?

No, no. He’d mentioned a ride.

Still. Maybe he was only spending a night here before heading off somewhere with brighter lights, and fewer men in flannel.

“If you can scare me I’ll tell you what happens to Beckett,” I promised, still holding his hand. I could feel the calluses from his guitar where they pressed to my skin, and that gentle scratch made my pulse thrum. I licked my lips, trying not to stare too hard at his collarbone where it peeked out of the sloped collar of his black, half-sheer shirt. His overcoat—overjacket, really—slid open a little, enough that I caught a glimpse of his nipples.

And god…fuck.

They were pierced too.

Made me want to pull on them just to make him yelp.

Which was not…a very appropriate thought to have when one was making a deal, but still.

Robin nodded seriously, accepting my terms. “And if I can’t scare you?” he asked, obviously waiting for the other shoe to drop. A pessimist, the way I’d always thought I was.

“You owe me a cup of hot chocolate.”

“Hot chocolate?” Robin blinked, clearly shocked. Then he laughed, eyes crinkling. “Yeah, biceps. Fine. I’ll buy you cocoa, you big weirdo.”

I dropped his hand, not because I wanted to, but because I didn’t want to be a creep.

My phone buzzed, signaling that Trent was here more than likely, which meant our time was up…unfortunately. It seemed there wouldn’t be much time for Robin to scare me, after all. I patted my shoulder to make sure my satchel was still in place, and Robin did the same with his backpack.

Regret—a new flavor—simmered in my belly as I rose to my feet and offered Robin a hand up. “Anyone ever told you that you have gigantic hands?” Robin asked, accepting the help. His guard went back up a little, but this time, the armor wasn’t aimed toward me but toward the rest of the airport as we made our way down the hallway. He ducked his head toward me, like he was hiding from the scattered families that littered the different gates as we passed by them.

“Yes,” I admitted, because it was true. Men often made comments about my hands when I had my fingers inside them. Not that I thought that was an appropriate thought to share.

“Bet they feel real good inside somebody,” Robin hummed thoughtfully.

I choked.

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged. “Bet your cock’s big too.”

“Jesus Christ.” I pinched my eyes shut, face bright red.

“Bet it blushes just like your cheeks do,” Robin was clearly having fun at my expense again. And I couldn’t even be mad about it. “Bet you walk in a room and the first thought anybody has is, “Woah, that dude looks like a ride and a half.’ Especially size queens. You ever heard of size queens? You’re like a size queen’s wet dream.”

I realized what he was doing a second too late.

“Are you trying to scare me?”

The doors that would lead out of the airport were fast approaching.

“Maaaaybe?” Robin grinned, and I glanced down at him. Quite far. Because he was incredibly short. Barely came up to my rib cage, actually, when we were both standing. “Is it working?”

“No,” I replied because it wasn’t.

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