Chapter Thirty

Jonah

Jonah stood at the entrance of Shoot Your Shot with a smile on his face as he watched Evie in the middle of the bar, dancing with a circle of her friends.

She had her arms over her head, a grin as bright as the sun on those beautiful lips, her hips relaxed and swaying back and forth in a rhythm that made his mouth go dry.

She was beautiful. And captivating. And a bunch of other amazing things that inspired feelings that scared him as much as they excited him. He couldn’t look away. Neither could half of the men in the bar. The group of women was attracting a lot of attention, but his attention was locked on one woman. And one woman only.

Jonah wasn’t a fan of dancing, but he was a fan of Evie. Which was why he wove his way through the crowd to the middle of the bar where the women had taken up residence. He pulled up a bar stool and took a seat.

He wasn’t there more than two seconds when she happened to turn his way. A flash of confusion furrowed her brow, but it was quickly replaced with surprise—pleasant surprise.

Seemed Evie was as big a fan of him as he was of her. Not that she’d admit it if she weren’t shit-faced. Which she clearly was because she gave him a big wave.

The entire group of women turned toward him and followed suit, until the gaggle was wiggling fingers in his direction. Then Jonah found himself doing something that would have the Man Card gods descending upon him and revoking his membership—he wiggled back.

Evie burst out laughing—loud enough to turn the remaining heads in the bar. Then he was the one who was pleasantly surprised, because she whispered something to her friends before walking over to him.

More like strutted. And man, those pants fit her like a glove and when paired with mile-high heels she was a walking wet dream. Then there was her top. Blue, and fitted enough to cling to her curves, with a neckline designed to scramble a man’s mind. Christ, her top had these tiny little straps of silk that with a single tug would drop down her shoulders.

Damn, he had it bad. This was quickly moving past infatuation into something more dangerous. An emotion he wasn’t sure how to define—one he hadn’t experienced before. With Amber it had been a slow burn, starting off as friends, and gradually moving to love. It had been sweet and safe and something he’d desperately needed back then.

This thing with Evie was as fast as a bullet train and headed toward nowhere. She’d made it clear that there was an expiration date. Plus, she could call this off at any moment to go back to her regularly scheduled life—or she could follow the dreams she’d put on hold for so long. Whichever way, her departure would leave him reeling.

Wasn’t that a terrifying thought? Even more terrifying was how much it terrified him. Not that he had time to dwell on the anxiousness pumping through his chest because she was standing in front of him. And in those sexy heels, with him sitting, he had a pretty inspiring view of just how low-cut her top was.

“My eyes are up here,” she said, thoroughly amused.

He looked up at her, but he took his time getting there, lingering on the sweet curve of her neck, where he knew she loved to be kissed, her lower lip that he loved to nip, and then those big brown pools that a man could fall into and never come out again.

“I was getting there.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, scooting closer. “What are you doing here?”

“You can’t text a guy like that and expect him to sit in bed wondering what happens when he uses his magical abilities.”

“You read that?”

“I read that.”

“I was hoping that the text would somehow disappear between now and when you woke up to read it.” A frown folded on her forehead. “Wait. Why aren’t you home asleep?”

“When a man gets a text about his magic mouth, he’s going to want to see what happens when he uses it.”

“It can melt a woman’s clothes right off,” she informed him as if she were the reigning expert on magical mouths. Correction. As if she were the reigning expert on his magical mouth. A title he was damn happy to give her.

“Shall we test it?”

Her gaze landed on his lips. “It would be odd for my boyfriend to greet me without a kiss. We are in the honeymoon phase after all.”

She wobbled a little and had to put her hands on his chest to steady herself. He pulled her closer—telling himself that he was just helping stabilize her. “How drunk are you?”

“Not so shit-faced that I don’t know what I’m doing, but tipsy enough to admit I want you to kiss me. Not because of the people in the bar, but because you want to kiss me.” Her lashes fluttered. “Do you want to kiss me, Jonah?”

“Desperately.”

“Then let’s see just how magic that mouth of yours is.”

Jonah was, hands down, a blessed man because he didn’t get the chance to kiss Evie—she was kissing him. He didn’t grab her or take control, he just stood there with his hands casually resting on the curve of her lower back, letting her set the pace. He thought she was going to give him a chaste kiss, but one brush turned into two, and finally, by the time she worked her way into kiss number five, a round of hoots and catcalls went up.

He pulled back slowly, savoring the way she chased his lips, trying to fill the growing distance between them. She blinked at him and the dazed expression was from more than a few drinks.

“Your clothes are still on. Maybe I’m doing it wrong,” he said.

“Oh, you’re doing it right,” she said. “But just for experiment’s sake, maybe we should try again. In your car.”

He groaned. She was killing him. “There is nothing more I want than to melt your clothes off, but I don’t want you to regret it come tomorrow.”

She cupped his cheek. “I won’t,” she promised.

“Let’s circle back to that when you’re sober,” he said. “But until then, how about you let me drive you home so I know you get there safely.”

“You came here to make sure I get home safely?”

“Sunshine, I came here to see you in that blue top.”