32. Deacon
DEACON
The Iron Cask is busy but I still managed to grab a corner of the bar while I wait for Tanner.
Tanner.
Even just thinking about him has my blood pumping and a smile creeping over my lips. I’d been skeptical the night Jude had left Tanner in charge while he took Arden to the hospital. There’d been a lot of declarations and while I’d been excited at the prospect, I’m no stranger to disappointment.
But Tanner hadn’t disappointed me—not even a little—not with his schedule at work or with Briggs. I just want to be with him when I can.
Like tonight—even if it’s just to fall asleep with him.
I miss him.
I thought I’d have a hard time slowing down to meet him where he is, but I wasn’t lying when I told him I like getting to do this with him.
Learn.
Explore.
It’s fun and not just the quick fuck I’d grown used to over the last few years.
“I thought that was you,” a husky voice says to my right. “I haven’t seen you around,” Jeremy says as his eyes rake over me. In the past, that would have been enough for me to hightail it out of here. We’d had plenty of fun but it had never been more.
And I like more.
I like it with Tanner.
“Hey, yeah. I’m actually seein’ someone. He should be here soon.”
His eyes flash with a mixture of surprise and hurt before he nods. “That’s…good. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks.” Nodding, I add, “How have you been?” Impatience hums in my veins as I wait for Tanner, the televisions around the bar all streaming different sporting events, the crowd a solid mix of couples having a night out and friends congregating to watch their favorite team play.
Dark wood floors, low lighting, and a variety of high-top tables in the bar create the perfect ambiance for any kind of night.
“Good. Busy with work.” He pauses, his gaze assessing as he touches his hand to my forearm. “It was nice seeing you. I hope things work out.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Jeremy takes off to the other side of the bar and I have to wonder if we’d always been like that or if I just never noticed. I’d lived a life with no romantic attachments for a long time and it had suited me then. Pleasure had been to relieve stress and unwind.
Nothing more.
And if I wasn’t feeling the bar scene or a hookup, I had no problem using my right hand to get the job done.
But that was before.
My dick stirs at the memory of Tanner straddling me on the couch, the mixture of innocence and desire potent as he asked for what he wanted. Or when he had my dick in his mouth, licking and sucking and driving me wild.
So fucking hot.
I’m about to pull my phone out and tell him to skip the bar and just go back to my place, but I catch him staring at me from across the room, his hands clenched and his posture rigid.
What the hell?
TANNER
The noise of the bar is drowned out by the blood roaring in my ears, the rush of jealousy like a hit of adrenaline as I stare at the vacant space next to Deacon.
The space previously occupied by a young and very attractive man.
An attractive man that touched Deacon, and I don’t fucking like it.
Twin reactions war inside me—the desire to flee winning against the desire to confront Deacon about who the hell that was that touched him.
Why won’t my feet move?
I’m frozen where I stand, the logical part of my brain trying desperately to remind me that Deacon has been with other people and the fact that I haven’t is my insecurity.
Not his.
He’s given no reason for me not to trust him, but that happy little bubble we’ve been living in popped like a balloon in a pricker bush. Maybe if I hadn’t just worked myself to the bone this week and had more social interaction besides just talking to Sorren, I wouldn’t be this wound up.
But the panic is real.
The jealousy is real.
I wasn’t even jealous when I found out that my ex-wife had moved back here and almost immediately started hooking up with her first love. Hurt maybe, but not jealous.
Deacon’s brows slash downward as his eyes remain locked on mine.
I want to run, to get out of here and catch my breath, to not feel like the walls are closing in on me over this insignificant bump in the road.
But I said I’d chase him.
Like it’s happening in slow motion, I watch as Deacon reaches his hand into his front pocket and pulls out a few folded bills before throwing them onto the bar. He’s trying to fix this for me—he’s trying to make it better.
And he does.
Just not the way he probably intended.
Without thinking, I’ve closed the distance by the time he’s done thanking the bartender, my body crashing into his as he turns toward the door.
And me.
With a grunt, he stumbles half a step, and before he can catch us both, I press my mouth to his. It’s not smooth or coordinated, but none of that matters as his lips curve up and he holds me against him.
“Evenin’,” he drawls, the solitary greeting sending a little shiver down my spine, my heart beating wildly in my chest for an entirely new reason.
“I feel wildly out of control,” I blurt out, and his smile widens at the admission.
“I like it.”
“It’s not my favorite.”
“Do you want to stay or should we go?”
I let the question replay in my mind, my nerves settling at the we in there.
“Let’s”—I look around, no one paying us any mind as we stand there with Deacon’s arms still wrapped around me—“get a table.”
“Anything you want.”
And suddenly, food is the last thing on my mind.