The harrumph noise Russ made as he went to mix her a fresh drink said otherwise.
“Your secret’s safe with me, Seagull.” Chuckling, Tate reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her soft skin. She sucked in an audible breath, her blue eyes going wide, her lips parting. They were pink. And damp. Her cheeks were rosy—he’d bet money that was alcohol induced—and her gaze seemed to—again—gobble him up. Like she enjoyed his touch. Like she wanted more of it.
He had to be seeing things. Reading something into nothing. No way did Wren Gallagher want him.
Did she?
Chapter Two
TATE JUST TOUCHED her. Like, in a sweet, caring manner. Boyfriends tucked hair behind their girl’s ear. Irritating dudes who called her Seagull and thought it was funny did not.
Wren frowned, hating that he acted all sweet and then called her Seagull. How dumb was that? They were the scavengers of the bird species. They ate garbage. The lost ones who somehow couldn’t find the ocean and made their home at the next best thing they could find—a landfill.
Yeah. Seagulls sucked.
And so did Tate Warren.
Though she was sort of lying. He didn’t suck. Not really. He was being nice to her. Made sure she got another drink, which was delicious, though this time around she drank it a little slower because wow, she was buzzing hard. She kept pace with Tate as he sipped from his beer, admiring how the strong column of his throat moved when he swallowed. And the way his black T-shirt clung to his shoulders and stretched across his chest.
She’d seen that chest bare, the time they all met for a barbecue by the lake a few weeks ago. He’d been in bright blue board shorts and nothing else and, um, wow. She could still remember what he looked like that day. Little droplets of water had clung to his bare, tanned skin. She’d been tempted to lick every last one of those drops and see if he tasted as good as he looked . . .
Wren slapped her hands against her cheeks. Hard. So hard Tate’s head whipped around, and he stared at her like she’d lost her mind. She sort of had, thinking such lusty thoughts about someone she really didn’t like.
Really.
“Is my story so boring you had to slap yourself to wake up?” he asked, amusement lacing his deep voice.
“No, I just . . . ” How was she going to explain herself? Forget it. She dropped her hands and smiled as politely as she could. “Carry on.” He’d been telling her about a recent medical call where the old lady’s cat had been stuck in a very tall pine tree and how she’d fully expected him to climb it and rescue her pet.
Typical firefighter fare she’d heard many times before, if she was being truthful. Her dad was a retired battalion chief. Her brothers worked at Cal Fire. She’d heard many a fire-related story over the years. They weren’t that impressive. She didn’t usually go gaga over a guy in uniform because, hello, most of the time they reminded her of her dad.
So yeah. Firefighters were no big deal. That meant Tate was no big deal. She needed to remember that.
Like, really remember it.
His gaze narrowed as he studied her for a quiet moment. He brought the bottle to his lips and finished off his beer. She followed suit and drank the last of her cocktail, setting the glass on the bar with a loud thump.
“I think it’s time to take you home,” he said.
She leaned back a little. “You’re going to take me home?”
“Did you think you could drive yourself?” he asked incredulously.
“Um, I hadn’t thought that far yet?”
“Exactly.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he kept talking. “Someone could bring you by here tomorrow, right? So you can pick up your car?” He slid off the barstool and stood next to her, his hands sinking into the pockets of his cargo shorts, his expression expectant. “Or you could call me and I’ll pick you up and—”
“No, no. I’m sure I can find someone who’ll bring me. I’ve inconvenienced you enough.” She hopped off the stool and tilted her head back, smiling up at him. He was very tall. And he smelled really good. Like spicy, clean man. She leaned in close, trying to take a subtle whiff, but she stumbled and nearly fell into him before he caught her. His hands on her shoulders, he held her away from him, his brows furrowed.
“You all right?” He bent his knees so he could gaze into her eyes and she knew. Right then she freaking knew that she wanted to kiss stupid Tate before the end of the night.
“I’m . . . great,” she said, sounding a little breathless. Oh, yeah, she felt absolutely wonderful with his hands gripping her shoulders and the way he looked at her. Like he could see right through her, down to the very thoughts she was having about kissing him.
Hmm. Could he read her mind? She hoped not. Or maybe she hoped so because, hey, she wanted him to kiss her. Or she wanted to kiss him. Or whoever had the guts to make the first move because, wow, he had nice lips. His lower lip was full, and it looked tuggable. She’d gently bite down and give it a little tug with her teeth . . .
“You don’t look so great,” he said, his deep, very concerned voice breaking through her tumultuous thoughts. “You’re kinda pale.”
Fine. So her head was spinning. Was it because of him or the alcohol? Maybe both? “Seriously. I’m awesome.” She took a step backward and his hands fell away from her, making her sad. She liked it when he touched her. “Ready to go? Wait, I need to pay.”