Page 13 of When We Are Falling

I shake my head, glancing over to where Blake is still working. “Go ahead, man. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Liam shrugs, giving me a look. He knows as well as I do that this stupid crush I have on Blake is never going to go anywhere.

“Alright, your loss. See you tomorrow, fella.” He claps me on the shoulder before heading out with the girls and Mike.

I stay behind, not really sure why I’m hanging around. All I know is that I want to be where Blake is. As the last few patrons trickle out, I walk over to the bar and take a seat. Lucy waves goodbye, and the glass runners tell her they’re done, too. Blake thanks them and they go, leaving us alone.

“You’re not heading home?” She’s cashing out the till, eyes on the money she’s counting out.

“I just wanted to make sure you know where we’re meeting tomorrow.”

“What a gentleman.” Her eyes are still on the bank notes as she slips an elastic band around a stack of twenties. “So?”

“So what?” I fiddle with the clipboard in front of me, partly hating how out-of-sorts she makes me feel, but mostly loving being near her.

“Where are we meeting?” She moves over to the beer tap. “I don’t know what John did to this, but I think I’m going to need to replace the faucet.”

The Tavern is dimly lit, just the light overhead illuminating the bar area, like a giant spotlight’s been shone right on Blake. She grabs a spanner and starts fiddling around with it, her lips pressed together in concentration, a strand of red hair curling against the tan of her cheek, and I can’t take my eyes off her.

“Hey, let me help.” I jump off the stool, stepping behind the bar.

“No, I’ve got it.” Something makes a grating sound, and the beer starts flowing again. She pumps the tap several times, but no amount of working it makes it stop. “Shit!”

I step closer, the space between us shrinking, and take the spanner from her hand. She holds it for a few seconds longer, our gazes locked, reluctant to hand it over.

“I can repair a boat engine. I can repair a beer tap.”

Beer continues to run down the drain and Blake finally relents, releasing the spanner, but not stepping back. Instead, she stands maddeningly close, hands on her hips, her presence super distracting.

Glancing up, gaze on the soft plump of her lip. Her hair catches the light, the red strands glowing like embers, and the scent of sweet oranges and warmth radiates from her.

I bend down and start tinkering with the beer tap, trying to focus, but her nearness makes it hard to concentrate. Just as I think I’ve got it, there’s a sudden loud popping sound, and beer sprays everywhere, soaking both of us.

Standing, putting my hand up to block the spray, swearing as it hits me square in the chest and groin. Blake lets out asurprised shout, her eyes wide as the tap continues to drench us both, until finally running dry.

“Great job, Mr. Fix-It,” she says, wiping beer from her face. She shakes her head before breaking into laughter. “Oh my god. Could you have been any less help?”

We lock eyes, both dripping wet. “Hey, at least it’s just beer and not engine oil.” I try to shake off some of the excess liquid but it’s useless.

“Well, now we’re both soaked in beer and the keg is empty. Nice going.” But there’s no anger in her voice. One thing about Blake: she’s always had a good sense of humor. Nothing fazes her.

I take a moment to appreciate the sight of her, her T-shirt clinging to her in all the right places, the outline of her bra visible through the soaked fabric, her hair damp and tousled. Despite the fact we’re both drenched, or maybe because of it, the moment feels charged, electric.

Beer continues to drip from my soaked shirt. There’s no point in keeping it on, and I strip it off, squeezing it into the sink beside me, before tossing it on top of the bar. Blake’s eyes flicker over my bare chest, and the air between us thickens.

I’m suddenly acutely, painfully aware that we’re standing closer than we’ve ever been, with less clothes on. I can see every freckle on her nose and cheeks, the green flecks in her eyes. I want her so bad it’s a physical ache, a need that’s been building up for far too long.

Staring at her, something switches unexpectedly behind her gaze, a shift from playful to intense, the red of her lips parting slightly as if she’s made a decision. Then she leans in, her eyes never leaving mine.

There’s hunger in her gaze, and something hot and molten breaks free in my chest. Time seems to slow as her lips touch mine, soft and warm, the world fading away until it’s just the twoof us, the taste of her mouth, the heat of her skin, the feel of it as I trail my hands up her arms.

The kiss is incredible, a surge of electricity that courses through my body, making my heart race. I cup her face in my hands, deepening the kiss, savoring every second. Her hands come to rest on my chest and she leans into me.

For a moment, nothing else matters. Not the oil spill, not the fact we’re soaked in beer. It’s just Blake and me.

I trace the curve of her shoulders. She shivers, her fingers roaming over my chest, exploring every inch of me, nails raking down my abs as she pushes me back against the bar.

Groaning into her mouth, my body responds, getting hard so fast I’m throbbing. I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. She deepens the kiss, pressing her tight body against the length of me, and something wild and feral takes over.

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