Chapter 24
Finn
Chase’s hand was warm in mine—but it wasn’t just warm; it felt like holding something that mattered, something real.
I was trying very hard to act normal, to walk like a functioning adult and not like someone whose brain had just short-circuited because a hot guy was holding his hand on a Saturday night in Ybor.
I was failing spectacularly.
Internally, my inner twelve-year-old was doing backflips. A full gymnastic routine. My little guy even stuck the landing. Ten out of ten from all the judges . . . except the Russian. That bitch gave him a nine.
He’s holding your hand, a voice in my head whispered. Then it screamed, CHASE IS HOLDING YOUR HAND. The hottie lawyer with the hazel eyes and crooked smile is holding your hand in public.
I tried to focus on anything else.
The street. The people. The music spilling out of bars we passed.
Seventh Avenue on a Saturday night was alive in the way only Ybor could be, with neon signs reflecting off wet pavement from an earlier rain, groups of people laughing outside bars, and the smell of cigars and food hanging in the humid air.
We passed Bradley’s on 7th, the historic gay bar that had been there since forever. Dance music floated out of its open double doors.
“I’ve never been down here at night,” Chase said, looking around like he was seeing it for the first time. “Not like this. Not just . . . walking.”
“Never?”
He shook his head.
“I’m always working or sleeping.” He squeezed my hand. “This is nice.”
“Walking?”
“Walking with you.”
That inner twelve-year-old did another backflip.
Keep it together, Finn. Be cool. You’re a bar owner, a professional. You’re not going to combust because he said something sweet.
“You’re blushing,” Chase observed.
“Am not.”
“Are, too.”
I chuckled at our childlike banter. “It’s the humidity and the lights and—stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you know what you’re doing.”
“Maybe I do.” Chase’s smile turned into something dangerous. “Maybe there’s an evil master plan beneath all my spontaneity.”
“Doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose of being spontaneous?”
Chase grinned but didn’t respond.
We walked past the Columbia Restaurant where I’d had lunch with Mark and Priya, past one of Ybor’s dozen tattoo parlors.
We passed a group of bachelorette party girls I recognized from the bar earlier in the night.
Each wore a matching hot pink sash. They were singing along to something playing from a nearby bar.
One of them waved at us, shouting, “You two are adorable!”
Chase beamed and waved back.
I died a little inside . . . in a good way.
“Are we adorable?” I asked.
“Can you argue with a gaggle of drunk women wearing tiaras and sashes? Is that allowed?”
“Fair point,” I said. “I’ve never been adorable before. It’s weird.”
“Get used to it.” He bumped my shoulder with his, his hand squeezing ever tighter.
We reached the corner of 7th and 17th, where the crowds started to thin out. The music was still there. There was always music in Ybor. But down here, at the end of the action, it was quieter, more distant, yet somehow more intimate.
Chase stopped walking.
“What—” I started to ask.
Then he pulled me down a side street.
Not gently. Not “let me show you something.” He just yanked my hand with purpose.
“Where are we going?” I asked, stumbling to keep up.
Chase didn’t answer. He just kept walking, faster now, dragging me along until we reached a darkened alley between two old brick buildings.
Then he tugged me into the shadows.
Out of view.
Away from the streetlights and the people and any semblance of public decency.
Fear spiked in my chest. My mind raced.
What if this guy, this beautiful, blond hottie, is a serial killer or child molester or—
He shoved me against cold brick, the outer wall of some old cigar factory, the kind Ybor was full of, and I barely had time to register the rough texture before his mouth was on mine.
Oh.
Oh!
Kissing Chase was—
I lost the ability to form coherent thoughts.
His lips were soft and firm at the same time, tasting like citrus from whatever Benji had put in his drink. His hands found my wrists, pulling them above my head and pinning them against the wall. His torso pressed into mine, solid and sure and so fucking warm.
Chase kissed me like I’d just returned from a years-long war that he was sure I wouldn’t survive.
His lips were hungry and raw and gentle and firm and . . . oh, shit . . . his tongue.
Chase pulled back, just enough to breathe, and rested his forehead against mine.
“Hi,” he said, letting go of one wrist to brush hair off my forehead. That tender touch made me shiver.
“Hi,” I managed, breathless.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since the sidewalk.”
“The sidewalk was three weeks ago.”
“I’m aware.”
“You waited three weeks to kiss me in a dirty alley?”
“Is that a complaint?”
“God, no. Not even a little.”
He kissed me again.
Harder this time.
More insistent.
His hands moved from my wrists to my hips, pulling me closer. I made a sound that was embarrassing, but I didn’t care because Chase’s tongue was doing something incredible and my brain had officially left the building.
My fingers found his hair, tangling in his messy curls, gripping and pulling until his head fell back and exposed his stubbly neck. I tasted his skin, ran my tongue from Adam’s apple to chin, then grazed my teeth back down to his collarbone.
He moaned and squeezed my hips so hard I was sure he’d left a mark.
I pulled back this time, gasping for air.
“You’re very good at that,” he said.
“At what?”
“The whole vampire neck tease. Damn.”
I grinned and took a faux nibble at the base of his neck.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I said. “At kissing . . . and the whole pressing-me-against-a-wall thing was . . . very effective.”
“Noted. More shoving you around, slamming you against things. Pushing hard.”
I sucked in a breath.
“What else am I good at?” Chase’s hands were still on my hips.
“Showing up at my bar when I least expect it.”
“That’s a skill?”
He kissed my lips again.
“It is when you look like that.” I gestured at all of him. “Those jeans. That shirt. The whole ‘I’m spontaneous now’ energy.”
“You like the jeans?”
“Fuck me, Chase. Your ass looks like it should start for the Lightning next game. It could defend the net all by itself.”
He chuckled. “Just my ass? I don’t think they make pads for that.”
“Idiot,” I said, though his mouth smothered whatever else I might say.
“Good.” He kissed me again, softer this time. It was the kind of sweet kiss that wasn’t trying to go anywhere. It just existed for the sake of existing. It stole my breath and lingered in the most amazing way.
When we broke apart, Chase’s hair was a mess. I’d done that and was proud of my handiwork. His lips were slightly swollen. I’d also done that. I was on a roll.
For one glorious moment, he looked nothing like the exhausted lawyer who’d stumbled into my bar with papers everywhere and stress written all over his face.
He looked at ease.
No, he looked happy.
“We’re making out in an alley,” I pointed out.
“I noticed.”
“In Ybor, where anyone could see us.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No. But it’s very . . . unlike Mr. I-Work-Every-Saturday.”
“Maybe I’m trying something new.” His hands moved from my hips to my face, cupping my jaw. “You make me want to try new things.”
My inner twelve-year-old passed out. Right there on an imaginary tumbling mat, he fell over and didn’t move again. At least he had a grin on his lips.
We stood there for a moment, breathing each other’s air, his hands moving up and down my sides as though he wanted to memorize my curves. My fingers found their way into his bird’s nest of hair. Neither of us felt quite ready to move.
“So,” Chase said. “My apartment would be a lot more comfortable than Ybor’s streets or that wall.”
My brain short-circuited again.
Was he asking me to go home with him?
C’mon, Finny Boy, say something, something intelligent, something that doesn’t make you sound like a complete disaster.
“Why aren’t we there already?” I said.
Chase’s laugh was low and warm and sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold brick poking into my back.