Page 12 of The No Try Zone
Again, I obey, opening the camera app and handing the phone to her. “You’re guaranteed to take a better picture.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m shit at it.”
We wrap our arms around each other’s sides, grinning like absolute idiots as she extends her arm and takes the shot. “It’s perfect,” she declares.
“It’s something. Finish your beer. I can’t take this smoke,” I admit.
She tilts it back and downs it in four swallows, then slams the empty bottle on the bar. “What are you staring at?”
I blink, trying to decide if I’m turned on or horrified that she totally housed the beer.Turned on. Definitely turned on. “Sorry.” Then I tip my own beer up, taking more than four drinks to finish. I push Speedy at the bartender. “For you. Even though I’m not sure you deserve him.”
She grins and holds him against her heart with delight. “Have a good night.”
Sam looks over at me. “What’s next?”
Chapter4
Sam
ICAN’T REMEMBER why I’ve had this stupid one-drink rule. I’m in total control of things. Matthew and I have hopscotched on the sidewalk, enthusiastically complimented random strangers on their outfits, found people dressed up as movie stars and asked for their autographs, jumped over VIP roped-off areas to see if security would actually remove us – they did – and sung karaoke in a dive bar. We’ve also spent the past hour talking in the other’s accent, and we’re both terrible at it.
I’m having the time of my life.
I mean, I can’t feel my face, but that’s a problem for future Sam. Right now, I’m snuggled up beside Matthew as we careen down the street in a pedicab, reggaeton music blaring up at us as the guy’s weed-infused voice carries on a one-sided conversation.
Matthew ishot. Have I mentioned that? He’s not huge, but he’s not small either, and he carries himself with the ease of someone who’s definitely got history as an athlete. I’m guessing football, given we’re in the States. Back home, I’d know instantly he was a rugger and I’d have grilled him on what position he plays and who his favorite teams are. His hair is kind of shaggy on top, a couple weeks past due on a cut if I had to guess, but it gives him a boyish look that really works for him. Between that and the dimple that flashes at me just above his beard on his left cheek when he’s being particularly funny, he’s doing things to my insides. Not to mention the arm muscles that are abundantly clear, especially now that his arm is wrapped around me, and the way his thighs stretch the ridiculous khakis he’s wearing.
The man has zero style, but no one’s perfect.
The pedicab pulls over and the guy looks back at us. “We’re here.”
“Where’s here?” I ask.
Matthew wiggles his eyebrows. “You’ll see.”
We climb out as Matthew pays, and it occurs to me that I’ve not paid for a thing this evening. We’re way down the Strip in front of yet another bar. Matthew grabs my hand and we go in. It’s dimly lit, like they all are, but the music isn’t at an ear-splitting level and the place is smoke-free, which feels like its own kind of miracle. I take a deep breath and widen my eyes, trying to pull some sobriety into my life.
“Nice, right?” Matthew murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he speaks.
Chills race down my arms, and I slow to relish the feeling of his big body pressed against mine. The man is a delicious meal wrapped in a terrible polo shirt and khakis. I hum in response.
“Drink?” he asks.
I nod, my body warming as his hand rests lightly on the small of my back to lead us to the bar. Before we get there, I come to a stop. “Wait.”
He stops and turns.
“Heads, we slow dance to the next song – no matter what it is.”
With an impish smile, he pulls the quarter out of his pocket and hands it to me. “Your dare, your flip.”
I take it and rub the pad of my thumb over the face of it. It’s nearly smooth, the metal of it warm against my skin. He called it his lucky coin earlier, which I thought was a joke. But now that it’s in my hand, I’m beginning to think he meant it. There’s something about it that feels almost sacred.
I toss the quarter, catch it and fold it onto the top of my hand. Before I make the big reveal, I look up at Matthew.
He’s looking at me with the most open expression I’ve ever seen. There’s a tinge of something else in there, too, a wistfulness perhaps, and it makes me wonder if he’s acting just as out of character as I am. I think he is. I open my mouth to ask, but he nods at my hands instead. “Show me.”
