Chapter 2

2

TORI

H oly shit. This guy was drinking vodka straight.

I had friends in college who did that. They were low on funds, so they'd buy alcohol and drink it with no mixer, calling it pre-gaming, to get drunk on the cheap before going out.

As the temporary bartender, who'd introduced himself as Dyson, settled onto the stool next to me, I saw that he didn't look drunk at all. In fact, he came across as completely sober.

"Thank you," he said as the woman from the kitchen set down a plate in front of each of us. "I was going to come get that."

The woman looked from him to me and back again, a knowing smile spreading across her face. "It's all good," she said. "If you need anything else, you know where to find us."

"This looks amazing," I said as I unrolled the silverware Dyson had set in front of me.

I settled the napkin on my lap, my hands trembling. Sitting next to this guy was doing things to my insides I didn't want to think about.

"I've heard good things about their shrimp tacos," he said. "But they're best known for their burger. Want to try?"

His question snapped my head up. He may have meant it in all innocence, but there was something about tasting each other's food that felt intimate.

For the first time in my life, I liked the idea of getting close to a guy. Any second now, I'd be looking for excuses to push him away, though. I always did.

"Sure," I said. "But only if you'll try my taco."

Wait, wasn't taco a term people used for a woman's body part? I'd heard that in college. I felt my face growing warm and worried I was blushing as I looked down at my plate.

"I'd love to try your taco," he said, then looked up. He had his burger held out toward me. "But first…"

There was some sort of double entendre here—tasting his meat? Putting his beef in my mouth?

My blushing was out of control. I could feel it. I had to stop thinking about this stuff, so instead, I leaned forward and opened my mouth wide enough to get it around the full burger.

As my teeth sliced into the bun, our eyes met. Something in his expression told me he was thinking about sex. He was imagining my mouth going around another type of meat entirely.

So much for killing my blush by thinking about something else. Suddenly, oral sex was all I could think about.

"Mmm" was all I could manage to respond with my mouth full.

I nearly choked, I chewed and swallowed so fast. Finally, I looked away, giving me the seconds I needed to recover from whatever had just happened.

And then it was my turn. I picked up one of my tacos and held it toward him. He wasn't looking in my direction at the time. He was busy squirting ketchup onto his plate. That left me sitting there, feeling awkward and wondering when the alcohol was going to kick in. Maybe it already had, but my senses were so on alert by this guy, it had me feeling sober.

From the second I'd seen Dyson, all I could think about was the way his arms stretched the sleeves of that T-shirt. I also wondered more than a few dozen times what it would be like to have those arms around me when he pulled me toward him for a long, slow kiss.

Finally, he did look up. When our eyes met again, my heart skipped a beat. This was more than attraction. This was a connection.

That thought flew through my mind just before he leaned forward and took a bite out of my taco. Unlike him, I averted my gaze quickly, mostly because I was afraid I'd start blushing again. I couldn't stop thinking about what it might be like to have that tongue of his run over my pussy.

Did men really enjoy giving oral sex, or was it something they did to make the woman happy? I'd never been close enough to a guy to ask him that.

"Okay, that's really good," Dyson said. "I've been missing out." He lifted the bottle of beer he'd grabbed from behind the counter and took a long sip, then set it down and said, "I've been sticking with the burger every time I eat here. I'm bad about trying new things."

"Not very adventurous?" I asked with a smile.

He knew I was teasing, right? I didn't want him to think I was accusing him of being boring or anything.

"In the food department," he said. "But I'm adventurous in just about every other area of my life."

He looked at me then, raising his eyebrows slightly. Okay, that had to be sexual. It wasn't my imagination. I was pretty sure this counted as flirting, which might mean he felt the same attraction I did.

"So, I assume your place was okay after the tornado?" I asked.

He eyed me for a long moment. Did that mean he didn't like my shift to small talk? I personally needed a breather. Blushing was not an attractive look for me.

"It seems to have skipped over my neighborhood," he said. "I live about halfway down the mountain on a street with a lot of the other men on my crew."

Construction crew. He'd mentioned earlier that was what he did for a living. My mind drifted to thoughts of him out in the heat of the day, sweating as he hammered nails into boards and…whatever else it was construction workers did.

Heat no longer rushed to my face. No, it was going to a completely different body part.

Whoa. What was happening here? This was…different.

"Rosewood Ridge is a small town," he said. "We'll band together and put it back like it was."

"Or even better."

My words brought a reaction from him. It was a brief flicker, but I caught it. He thought I was implying Rosewood Ridge could be improved. Not at all.

"My college town had a tornado," I rushed to explain. "Afterward, it seemed like the locals were so much closer. Working together… Plus, we got a crap-ton of new restaurants out of it."

Did that sound shallow? I was a college kid at the time, always in search of a good pizza. After the tornado, there were so many more options.

"That's what I'm thinking," Dyson said. "Not about the restaurants, but about us working together to rebuild. We're about to see what this town is made of."

"Exactly."

"What about you?" he asked before popping a fry in his mouth.

What about me? Going by the most recent words out of his mouth, he wanted to know what I was made of. Was this another chance to flirt?

"You're here for the makeup convention," he said. "Is that your job?"

I shook my head. "It's a side gig. My job is as an account manager for an automotive sales company based in Atlanta."

Another look flashed in his eyes, and this one I couldn't read. It almost looked like disappointment.

"So, you live in Atlanta?" he asked.

Oh. Was that why he was disappointed? He thought I lived four hours away?

"Kingston," I said. "I work from home."

"Kingston, Tennessee?"

I nodded. The disappointment had vanished. I'd driven just over an hour to get here. That was definitely doable if he wanted to see me again.

Did he want to see me again after tonight? Did he maybe want to date me?

No, I couldn't get my hopes up about that. This guy was gorgeous. G-o-r-g-e-o-u-s. He could have his pick of women. What would he want with a twenty-three-year-old account manager who'd barely even dated?

"Maybe I'll just have to drive to Kingston and take you on a date," Dyson said. "Any good restaurants around there?"

"A few."

My mind was spinning. This guy was actually thinking about taking me on a date. That was more than just an attraction. He wanted to spend more time with me.

Unless he just wanted to get me into bed. A guy would drive an hour to get laid, wouldn't he?

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the tornado aftermath. Maybe it was the fact that I could easily walk out of here and never see this guy again. Whatever the reason, I found myself boldly blurting out the only question on my mind.

"Are you looking for a relationship or just sex?"