Page 27 of Promise Not To Fall

2 parts Sauza® Gold

1 part Solerno Blood Orange Liqueur

½ part blood orange juice

1 part sour mix

Add all ingredients in a shaker

Add ice

Shake well until chilled

Pour into a rocks glass with a salted rim

Garnish with a blood orange wheel or an orange twist.

It’s shortly after I let Jake do a tequila shot off my vagina that I know exactly where this night is heading. And I’m pleased with this discovery. His drinks and demeanor provide me with exactly what I’ve been looking for. Numbness and relaxation.

After the shot, I notice the time. It’s three in the morning, and we’ve gotten into a conversation about his tattoos and if they hold any meaning.

He shrugs off my questions as if he has no intention of telling me. “What about you, got any tattoos?”

“Uh, no. Ink poisoning, permanent, pain….” I raise an eyebrow at him. “I could go on for a while with this one. Me and permanent ink are not friends. But yours look good. I like them on other people, just not myself.”

Jake laughs, shrugging again.

I peek at the ones on his forearms. Sadly, his shirt is back on. “Do you regret any?”

“Nope.”

“Do they have meaning?” I ask, again, wondering if maybe I keep asking, he might answer me.

He gives me a wry yet kind smile. “Some.”

He’s so cryptic it’s getting annoying, and I know, had I not been drunk, I would have punched him in the face and forced him to answer my questions.

I have a feeling maybe closing time was an hour ago, and Jake just didn’t say anything to me, because Nash is gone, as well as everyone else.

All of a sudden, my hearing catches the song playing over the stereo. “Are you shitting me right now?”

He stops arranging bottles and looks at me. “What?”

“Boyz II Men? You’re playing Boyz II Men in a bar in the Bahamas?”

He twists the nob and blares it. “Uh, we rock the shit out of the classics here, thank you.” He spins around, holding a beer bottle to his lips, eyes closed, head thrown back as he lip-syncs along with the stereo.

When the chorus to “I’ll Make Love to You” flows through the bar, he does a mimicking hip thrust and fist-clenches the air.

Oh, Island Boy, you’re mine. You’re all mine tonight.I want to hip-thrust him. Oh, yes, I do. Look at those moves, those hips, those hands and the way his knuckles turn white gripping the bottle. I want to be the reason his knuckles are turning white. Imagine the grip he can have.

Believe me, I already have.

When the second verse comes on, his hand motions are too much. And his dad comes walking in.

He takes in the sight of his son, lip-syncing Boyz II Men. “Jake…” he sighs, shaking his head. “Boy, what are you doing?”

Apparently, we aren’t alone.

---