Page 12 of Promise Not To Fall

“Excuse me?” I recoil, glaring at the two of them. “Who are you talking about?”

They exchange amused looks.

“The guy you’re drinking away,” Island Boy replies, a touch of a Bahamian accent laced in his words. Damn. So hot. “His name is probably Brody, huh?”

“His name is not Brody,” I say, shaking my finger at him as warmth settles in my face. I’m buzzed for sure.

Surfer Boy walks away, laughing, back to the other end of the bar, where two more middle-aged women have taken a seat. “What can I do ya for, ladies?”

Watching the interaction between them, Island Boy shakes his head and then turns back to me, his arms crossing over his chest as he raises an eyebrow and offers me that boyish smile once again. Ah, yes, there you are tummy tickles. “Sowhoare you drinking away tonight?”

“If you must know, an empty heart, thanks to the short stop for the Diamondbacks,” I finally tell him.

A hearty laugh escapes his lips, and he raises his glass he has under the bar filled halfway with dark liquor. “To me, then.”

Confused, I watch as he downs the drink in one shot, grimacing at the burn. “Why you?”

Winking, he watches me with an intensity I hadn’t thought possible for him, making me slightly uncomfortable. Running his hands through his dark hair, he leans forward slightly. He smells like dryer sheets, and I want to rub myself against his static-free body. “Because I’m the lucky son of a bitch who gets to fill the empty heart.”

By “fill,” I know exactly what Island Boy has in mind.

Oh, yeah, baby. Keep serving these drinks, and we’re heading that way.

My fish and chips are ready by then. A large basket of fresh fish and french fries is placed in front of me by an older man who resembles Island Boy a little bit. Same eyes. You can’t miss that combination of black hair, sky blue eyes, and dark skin.

“What’s your name?” I ask Island Boy, wanting to know which name I might be screaming later.

His eyes met mine. I notice a little more about him every time he looks at me. He has strong features that draw me in, like his jawline, the scruff, and his cute nose. I know, I said cute, but it totally is. He’d make cute kids for sure.

“Jake.”

Of all the fucking luck to have. I’d sworn off “J” names. I can’t breathe in that moment, and I have no idea what to say. I want to punch myself for even walking in this damn bar. Why couldn’t his name be more exotic?

“Fuck off.” I turn away from this Jake character. Fuck his cute nose and hair I want to pull.

Why can’t his name be something like Enrique or something more island like? I’d even settle for something American. Just not with the letter “J.” It’d be doomed from the start, right?

My throat goes dry at the thought.

“Excuse me?” Jake stares at me as if I’ve just slapped him. I guess I did with my words, if you stop to think about it. I told him to fuck off.

“Nothing.” My shoulders slump forward.

“What’syourname?”

“Kendall,” I mumble, laying my head down on the bar.

Jake extends his perfect hand to me. “Nice to meet you, Kendall.”

Sitting up, I reach for his hand. When my hand touches his warm skin, shivers run up my arm at the contact. For a moment, I’m lost in his touch.

Some think that only happens in the movies. A tingling touch. In fact, it does happen. Certain people have a way of eliciting reactions in others simply with tactile encounters. This Jake dude, he’s one of them.

And then I think, Jake is usually short for something. Maybe his name starts with a D, or something else. “What’s your real name?”

He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Real name?”

“Is Jake short for something?”

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