Page 7 of Tempted to Touch

Jesus, Chris.

I'm such a chicken... But it's hard to be anything but when I don't really have a plan here. Because what am I going to say? Sure, it's notimpossible(though implausible) for me to randomly be at the same place at the same time as Hayden—it's a popular joint, even on weekdays, judging by the crowd—but I still don't have a clue how I'm going to justify being here alone, should he ask. Maybe this is a bad idea?

Hayden picks up his phone from where it lies on the bar top and starts tapping. As he puts it back down, my phone buzzes in my palm. I know what it is without looking, and that's how it's gonna stay—I don't have it in me to look. I shove it into my pocket, my eyes glued to Hayden as I'm half-peeking from behind some guy's back. If someone's watching me right now, they're gonna call the cops.

But that doesn't matter. What matters is, Hayden doesn't seem to notice me, taking another glance at the door before turning his body toward the bar and raising his hand to get the bartender's attention.

This is it. It's now or never.

Taking a deep, sharp breath, I let my legs carry me again, my step less than steady now, and when I finally stop right behind Hayden, the absolute worst fucking happens—my mouth doesn't work.

I open and close it three times, like a fish, but no sounds come out.

Okay, that's it. Abort the fucking mission.

By some miracle, Hayden hasn't clocked me yet, his attention still on the bartender who's busy fixing up someone else's order. I turn on my heel and dash.

Except I don't manage to get far, half a step to be exact, before someone who I'm convinced is the devil embodied body-slams me, just hard enough for me to lose my balance and stumble backward, until my back hits—

"Whoa," a familiar deep voice sounds somewhere above my head as I fight to regain my balance, just as the asshole in front of me throws a haphazard "My bad," before all but disappearing into thin air.

Lovely. Just absolutely, freaking lovely.

Well... I guess I'm doing it, then.

Turning around like I'm about to face my executioner, I make sure my back is straight and my head is held high. "Before you start," I raise one finger between us as Hayden's face flashes with recognition, "Yes, I meant to come and say hello. No, I didn't mean to fall all over you, and no, I'm not hurt, in case you're wondering. Also, hi."

Well, damn. Turns out I'm actually not that bad at handling crisis. Who knew?

It takes Hayden a moment to snap out of the amused shock—or is it shocked amusement?—that has his eyes growinghuge and his mouth upturned into an open-mouthed half-smile. "Damn. Don't kill a guy's hopes like that."

I raise a brow. "Which part were you hoping for?"

"Not the hurt part, that's for sure."

"So tell me," I say before he's finished speaking, just to beat him to it. Unlike him, I have no justifiable reason to be here, "is it illegal to start fires on Wednesdays, or are you just enjoying tough Thursday mornings?"

I don't miss how his eyes dart to the door somewhere behind me for a split second. Then, he leans over and his voice drops. "It's illegal to start fires any day of the week. You should know that. Or do you need some education?"

I swallow and suck in my lower lip involuntarily at the sound of his last word. This guy must be a natural flirt. Fuck.

Okay, you can do it. Gather your wits, Chris. "I haven't decided yet. But I'll make sure to get back to you on that."

His eyebrows shoot up and he somehow manages to squint at the same time as he hums, as if trying to read me.

I'm not sure I'm ready to be read. Not when I'm not sure what's on the page myself. "I believe I owe you a drink."

It doesn't last more than a second, but there's an entire mental process happening inside his head as his eyes dart toward the door again and he checks his phone. Half a second of hesitation, and then, "I wouldn't say that you owe me, but if you're offering, I'm not gonna say no."

Chris 1—Nicholas 0.

A sudden wave of heat rolls through me as the words linger in my brain, because damn, is there subtext or am I imagining things? It's not even what he says, it'showhe says it,with his voice a little bit rougher than normal, his vowels a little bit more sluggish. Deliberate.

Fuck. I need to stop overanalyzing. It's just a drink. Between maybe, potentially sometime friends. "Any special requests?"

Hayden puts one elbow on the bar top and leans over it. "Surprise me."

I look away instantly, trying not to focus on how the top of his chest pokes out of his shirt as he moves, and conveniently my eyes lock with one of the bartenders. I order two Old Fashioneds. When I turn my attention back to Hayden, another inch of his chest makes an appearance.

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