Chapter 9

Chapter

Nine

Whoever cameup with the idea for speed dating events deserves a throat punch. I've seen a lot of awkward hookup attempts in my years behind the bar, but an hour of table swapping, in five minute increments of swings and misses, was brutal. Things are loosening up now that the timer's put away and people are able to mingle and move around. Still, there's an aura of hungry hope strangling me.

"You look like you're ready to abandon everything and run away." Tate's deep voice behind me ruffles the hair along my nape an instant before his scruffy jaw scrapes along my neck.

Electricity dances over my skin anytime we touch, even accidentally, so it's nothing new. Somehow, this is different, though. Maybe, it's because I'm not forcing myself to ignore it.

"Would it be so bad if I did?" I'm only half serious. I love my bar. I love my life. Mostly. I definitely love knowing that, as the owner, I can decide we're never doing another one of these speed dating events again.

"You'd miss me if you ran away from home. Admit it." The playful cockiness I'm used to getting from him is back, but there's an edge to it now I never noticed. A possessiveness I hadn't let myself hear.

"Maybe, I'd take you with me." Long-buried insecurities have been clawing at me all day. Daring me to test him. To test myself.

If I let myself fall for Tate, will I become my mother? Still me, but muted behind a veil of putting my man's desires and dreams ahead of my own? Will he become my father? Loving and loyal but oblivious to always being the top consideration?

"There's no maybe here, Jill. Get that out of your head, right now. I've waited two years for my chance with you. You run anywhere; I'm following. End of discussion." He's fierce. Intractable.

Without fanfare or endless discussion, the tight knot of worry snarled in my chest unfurls. Just a bit. When I think on it, I realize Tate's always managing to say or do exactly what I need. Usually before I even realize I need it.

I turn from within the cage he's made of his arms around me to hold on to the raised brass rail of the bar. With the crowd's murmur behind me blends into a white noise while I block all the intrusive thoughts and worries. I focus on the fluttery race of my heart at having him so near. The heat wrapping around me warms the chill I always get when I've spent the evening opening beer coolers and mixing drinks in icy metal shakers.

"I'm not running." Any other time, any other man, and the promise would be too soon. Too rash.

But this is Tate. My best friend. If I'm honest with myself, it's a thrill to anticipate all the intensity I've seen him devote to his work being turned toward me. And there's no mistaking the intensity he's been directing my way all day.

All I can envision is the moment when a dam is breeched. Nature unbound and ferocious at having been contained too long. My vow has loosed the floodgate. I'm already shivering under the weight of his stare. Hot need clenches and pulses in waves that radiate from deep within me outward.

"Good girl. Not that I wouldn't enjoy chasing you if you did. The catching would be…" He trails off, allowing his eyes and the press of his body as he steps even closer to finish the thought. He's taller than me by enough inches so the thick ridge of his erection presses into the soft curve of my stomach.

He's in khaki shorts now, the soft twill of them no match for the iron bar of a cock that put on such a filthy show this morning. Heat and hardness push into my belly, and it makes my core ache with envy. I want to feel that monster right where I'm neediest. Feel it fill and stretch and overwhelm in all the ways I've been missing for so long.

"You like being my good girl." He's not asking. His eyes move from my face down to where my breasts press against the pale-aqua T-shirt with my bar logo stretched across them. My nipples, tight and tingling under his gaze, distend the letters and turn my arousal into a shamefully public display.

"I-I do like it," I stammer. His face dips toward mine, and my chin lifts without conscious thought. Needing his kiss.

A sudden cheer goes up in the bar behind me, stealing his attention and startling me from my near-drugged stupor. I whip around my head to see nearly every patron in the place watching the Jill and Tate Show. Catcalls and shouts of encouragement and "it's about times" ring out from all corners of the room.

"I'm not kissing you for the first time with a damn audience, baby." The only reason I hear his low growl is because my face is tucked so close against him to hide from the crowd. I'm not shy, but I also don't make a habit of being the center of the entire bar's attention.

Tate moves back, dragging me with him step for step until he's next to the drop counter separating the front of the house from the doorway to the kitchen. I follow blindly, content to allow him to lead the way wherever as long as it gets us out of this spotlight.

"Well, folks, looks like Minute Meet Up has its first match!" Shelly crows from her spot at the table where she's been sorting through the participant's tally sheets. Her redirect captures the attention of most everyone, and I'm grateful. Not grateful enough to host another speed dating night, but thankful nonetheless.

"Are the twins okay to handle the rest of the night?" Tate's question is the reminder I need to pull my head out of the foggy lust haze, so I can run my business like a whole adult.

"Oh, yes, they're good to go. They've both done it plenty of times and were already scheduled to be here ‘til close tonight, just in case. We talked about my leaving early when they got here. I'm ready."

I'm ready.The two words land between us with a weight I know he registers. And I am. Ready, that is. After the shortest but longest wait in history, I'm finally ready to see what comes next for me and my best friend.