Page 47 of Wild Eyes
Her gaze moves from my hand clasped around my arm up to my face, and her attention stops me in my tracks for a moment.
Fuck,she’s pretty.
With a short shake of my head, I forge on. “And there was nothing stupid about that kiss. In fact?—”
“Oh lordy, dropping and running. Pretend I was never here,” Doris grumbles as she sets our drinks on the table and bolts.
Saving me from saying something I definitely shouldn’t.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SKYLAR
In fact.
In fact, what?
Never have two words in the English language infuriated me more.
Fucking Doris.
He was about to say something interesting. I could tell by the way his voice changed and his eyes heated. Even the warning about not doing serious relationships wasn’t enough to scare me away. In fact, I leaned in closer, desperate for him to finish that sentence.
I know a casual hookup is the last thing I need.
But there’s something about him.
Something that has my eyes lingering longer than they should, my body standing at attention, and my mind traveling down a path it shouldn’t. Especially since I know it’s not in the cards—he’s made that much abundantly clear.
And yet, he doesn’t push me away.
“Here.” He slides a can with a sad-looking basset hound on it my way.
I eye it speculatively. “I don’t know how to shotgun a beer.”
West chuckles. “They aren’t for shotgunning. No one should drink this swill.” He reaches for the can, the cow skull tattooed on his finger stretching as it wraps around the can. Aluminum faintly crinkles as he picks it up before extending one corded arm across the small table and gently pressing the cold can to my cheekbone, just beside my nose.
I gasp and reach up, surprised by the contact. My fingers wrap around his forearm, drawing his gaze down for a bit before he’s back to searching my eyes.
“It’s for the swelling.” With his opposite hand, he nudges the other can in my direction. “One for each side. Sips of chardonnay in between. Doctor’s orders.”
I nod because I don’t know what to say. Internally, I beg myself not to leap across the flimsy table and kiss this man who isas single as they comeagain.
Because while I don’t fancy myself a genius, I am not that colossally stupid. West is hot as hell, flirty as fuck, but he might as well have heartbreak tattooed on his forehead.
Above all, I have a fairly intact sense of self-preservation, so I pat his arm and draw back into the safety of my side of the table. He watches me as I take a deep, centering swig of white wine before I hold two cheap beer cans against my face.
I must look absolutely bizarre to anyone who’s watching us. Silver lining, though—I also am not the least bit recognizable.
West sips his beer, but he’s still staring at me with such intensity that I might launch myself into the lake just to get away from his gaze. It’s too heavy. Toomuch.
Again, I’m struck by the feeling that he sees right through me. It’s unnerving. And I want to throw him off just as much as he does me.
“Mia seems sweet,” I blurt. It’s easier to say it aloud because I’m essentially hiding behind the beer cans.
“She is.”
“Seems like you get along pretty well.”
