Page 11 of Fierce Love
“You okay?” he asks, his voice rumbly and deep. “Do you need something?”
“The guys over there don’t seem to understand I’m not on the menu,” I say.
“Want me to go talk to them?” He leans back, his gaze traveling over my face. He lifts the arm that’s holding his drink and flexes his impressive bicep, the T-shirt stretching across his skin, tanned from the sun. “I could take them.”
I grin and shake my head. “No! Don’t do that. Just… can we pretend we’re together?”
“Like I’m your boyfriend?” His expression lights with genuine amusement.
“If you want a label for this role-play…”
“To be in character, I need to understand the assignment. The details matter.”
“What might help you?” I ask, finding I’m enjoying the light flirting.
“Lean into me a little more. Yeah, that’s right. Tuck in there.” He slings his arm around my shoulders, and I wonder briefly whether Elmore, the owner, will be pissed that I’ve paused my last-call hustle.
“What’s your name?” he asks, and he runs his callused palm along my arm and down to my fingers, linking them together.
“Hollyn,” I say. “You?”
“Nate,” he says, and I could close my eyes and listen to the timbre of his voice forever. There’s something about it that just nestles into me, warm and comforting. He peers over my head and then spins me around so my back is pressed to the bar, his body shielding me from whatever is behind him. He’s caged me in, but I’ve never felt safer. “Not sure they’re buying us. I might need to break out the biceps.”
“No bar fights. I can’t get fired.” On impulse, I say, “Kiss me.”
A slow smile spreads across his face, but he doesn’t ask if I’m serious or if I’m sure. Instead, one of his hands leaves the edge of the bar, turns his ball cap around, and his thumb sweeps across my cheekbone. “You’re really fucking pretty,” he says, and then he slides his hand into my chin-length hair, and he kisses me.
His lips are gentle at first, soft and tentative, as though he didn’t ask for permission with words, but he’s asking with actions. With a slight slant of my head, I deepen the kiss, and then I can’t help myself. I slip my hands around the back of his head, fiddling with the silky strands under the brim at the nape of his neck, drawing him closer, tighter. Even though we’ve justmet, our lips move in sync, as though they’ve done this dance before. I’ve never had a kiss feel so wildly passionate and so precisely practiced at the same time. He kisses in a way I’d never be able to describe but feels perfectly balanced, just for me.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard, and Nate’s forehead is pressed to mine. “Marry me,” he says on an exhale.
I laugh. “What? We just met.”
“In this life, sure. But that wasn’t a first kiss. First kisses are exciting, but they aren’tthat. That kiss was… that kiss was born out of lifetimes—hundreds or thousands of them.”
“You have to be drunk. What are you talking about?” I laugh again, but there’s a tingle down my spine, as though some part of me agrees with the nonsense he’s spewing.
“I’ve had a few drinks.” He grins, but he doesn’t seem drunk, at least not on alcohol. “As your official boyfriend for the night, I can give us any backstory I want.”
“So you’re going with past lives?”
“It was either that or we’re a couple that’s been dating for years. Ever since we knew what dating was. We’ve always been serious about each other—right from the first kiss. Now we’re headed off to college, and I’ve decided it’s now or never. And I want all my ‘nows’ with you. Forever.”
He’s so earnest when he says it, so persuasive that I can almost picture his rewritten history. “Except we just met,” I whisper.
“Did we? Convince me.” His tone is teasing, and there’s a playful glint in his eyes. “I like my version of history better.”
“That’s not how the world works, though,” I say, but my heart is pounding because there’s a part of me that wishes history could be rewritten that easily.
Silence hangs between us for a beat, and I realize the bar has mostly cleared out. The lights are on full strength, and the music is off. “I should go. I’m going to get fired.”
Nate backs off, glancing around as though he’s coming out of a trance, just like me. Somehow we ended up in our own bubble, but it’s burst now.
“Nate,” a sandy-blond-haired guy calls from the door. He’s just as tall as Nate but a little more muscled where Nate is leaner. “We gotta go.”
“Go out with me?” Nate asks, stepping away. “Whenever. Wherever. Name the time and place, and I’ll be there.”
“Good night, Nate,” I say with a laugh.
