Page 4 of Play It Off

“Tattoos.” He swings his gaze back to mine. “I don’t notice any.”

I have zero tattoos. “Maybe you just can’t see them.”

Wait. Am I flirting? I’m barely one drink in.

His lips tip up at the corner. “Interesting. Are you telling me you’ve got secrets, Sienna?”

“Plenty of them.” My smile matches his. “How about you, Gavin? Do you have any secrets?”

“Not that I’m willing to share with you.” His smile fades. “Yet.”

Chapter TwoSienna

Oh no. I am very, very ...

Drunk.

I can’t stop laughing. Everything that comes out of Gavin’s mouth is funny to me, and since he won’t stop talking—which is very unlike him—I can’t stop giggling. I love rum. And Coke. Not the kind you snort, the kind you drink. Rum and Coke together?

Ten out of ten. Strong recommend.

Little Miss Cute Server reappears at our table yet again because Gavin basically told her about four—maybe five—rum and Cokes ago that she should keep them coming. But he silences my laughter when he makes that gesture at her like he’s slicing his throat with his fingers.

“We’re cutting her off.” He points his thumb in my direction.

“Nooooo.” I lean against him because all my inhibitions have abandoned me. I am a drunken fool who wants more, more, more. “I’m so thirsty.”

“Bring her a water,” Gavin advises the server.

“Will do.” She takes off before I can stop her, and my disappointment runs far and deep.

“You’re no fun.” I let go of him and slump against the seat, crossing my arms. I’m pouting like I’m three, but I don’t care.

“You’d end up crying over a toilet and puking if you keep going. You might already be at that point.” He shakes his head, rubbing his jaw with his fingers. I stare at those fingers, mesmerized by the sight of them. They’re long and magical. I bet he knows what to do with them, and I’m not talking about throwing a football either.

“I’m fine.” I wave my hand and nearly topple over onto the seat. Gavin grabs me at the last second to keep me from falling, and I start laughing all over again. “Or maybe not.”

“Definitely not.” He helps me sit upright, and I beam at him.

“Thank you.” I’m getting lost in his eyes again. They’re beautiful swirls of varying shades of blue, and I don’t ever want to look away. It’s like I can’t.

“You’re welcome.” He’s still slouched in the booth seat, his big body sprawled in all directions. His arms are stretched out along either side of the back of the seat, and his legs are spread wide. Most women would call this manspreading and complain about it, but I love how much space he takes up. It’s hot.

He’shot.

I’m hot too.

In fact, I’m sweating.

Over him.

“Why are you hanging out with me?” The words fall off my tongue as if I have no control, and I realize that is a correct assumption about me. I have zero control. I’m drunk, and I guess alcohol makes me bold.

He frowns. “Why wouldn’t I hang out with you?”

“There are all sorts of girls out there.” I waggle my fingers at the crowd, indicating all the females currently watching us—him—with hunger and longing in their eyes. “Yet you sit here with me.”

Gavin watches me for a moment, and I wonder if he’s having to ask himself why exactly he is with me. When he could be doing anything else. Anyone else.

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