Page 19 of Fierce Love
The confidence, though—there’s no disguising that.
Lots of guys are cocky for no reason, and maybe I just assumed his kissing skills were his source of confidence. The Tucker family have lots of reasons for their inflated egos, and most of those are not good.
He's chosen one of my tables, and I wait as long as I can before Elmore’s glare from behind the bar tells me that I can’t keep ignoring a paying customer.
“Hollyn Davis,” he drawls with a grin when I approach his table. I hate that his lips are full and kissable, that the memory of them pressed against mine is still so fresh. “I told you I’d be back.”
“Nathaniel Tucker,” I say with a falsely sweet smile. “What can I get for you?”
“Nate. My friends call me Nate.”
“We’re not friends, so Nathaniel it is.”
“I’ve been thinking about that this week, actually.” He gives me a pensive look, brow furrowed. “Since you’re my future wife, do I risk being temporarily friendzoned despite that amazing kiss last week? Friendship is a viable route. I think I’d be able to swerve out of that lane eventually. Or do I go after what I really want, even if I’m worried you might think I’m too much too soon?”
“Guys never get the ‘too much’ or ‘too soon’ label,” I say, my pen poised over my notepad. “That privilege is exclusively given to women.”
“My sisters would disagree with that.”
“That’s because they have a different kind of privilege that allows them to do that. Maybe even to be taken seriously when they feel something is wrong or unjust. I wouldn’t know. Drink?”
His gaze travels over my face for a beat, and awareness prickles across my skin. His handsomeness is annoying in its genuineness—bright eyes, messy hair, casual clothes. He’s not glossy or polished, and I almost wish that he was. Polished would be easy to bat away, to ignore. Polished would never understand the complications in my life, my past. Polished would never even get a glimpse at my heart.
There’s an energy between us that I’ve never felt before, and I cannot decide if I should allow myself to be exhilarated or if I should force myself to run. Either way, when our eyes lock, I know I can’t deny its existence.
“I’ll have a gold rush,” he says, his gaze still locked with mine.
“You aren’t eighteen,” I murmur. “I can’t serve minors.”
“My ID says otherwise.” He tries and fails to smother a charming grin. “Did you want to see it?”
“Everyone knows who you are,” I say. “There’s no way a fake ID works on this island.”
“I didn’t say it was fake,” he says, reaching into his back pocket and removing his wallet before setting it on the table, unopened. “That must mean you knew who I was the other night when you pressed your hand to my back.”
Heat rises into my cheeks, swift and ferocious. I’m not sure which admission would be more damning—the truth or a lie?
“I didn’t,” I admit.
He slips his ID out of his wallet and sets it on the table, and when I look down at it, I see Iwasright. His birthday is in the fall, and it’s only late spring right now. “You’re not eighteen.”
“I’d still get served if I took it to Elmore,” he says.
“Because you’re a Tucker,” I say, and I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice.
“I’m just saying you won’t get in trouble.” He tries to catch my eyes. “You’ll be a Tucker one day too.”
“No, I won’t.” I tap my pen on the edge of my notepad, but I don’t write down the gold rush he requested. The other night, I knew he was drinking, and his alcohol consumption didn’t bother me. For the first time in my life, the smell of alcohol on a guy’s breath hadn’t been completely repulsive, but I don’t like that he’s here by himself ordering a drink.
“When did you turn eighteen?” he asks, his voice quiet, but his eyes on me are intense, searching.
“A few months ago.”
“When, exactly?”
“Why?”
“It’s my favorite day of the year. I can’t have someone ask me for my favorite day and then not know the date.”
