His head snaps downward, those yummy chocolaty eyes narrowing. “What kind of Scrooge are you?”
“A realistic one.”
Zebb smirks, continuing his perusal of my body molded against his. “A beautiful one.” While his voice softens, his words are loud enough to be heard.
“Are you drunk?” I laugh, anxious that he’ll say yes. That his arm around me should be a warning instead of a reminder of his touch when we were young. A reminder of his hold on my heart back then.
“Nope.” He pops thePand I’m still not convinced.
A towel has been placed over the spill of beer and the bartender swipes it up before placing two shots on the countertop.
Still clutching me, Zebb hands me one glass then reaches out for the second one.
“What should we drink to?” he yells over the crowd. We’re collectively jostled in this tight space between bar stools and a crowd of standing people.
“I don’t know,” I admit, more worried that I’ll be wearing the Fireball instead of drinking it.
“To reunions, then.” Zebb taps the lip of my shot glass with the side of his and tosses back the cinnamon-y goodness in one smooth move. I watch his Adam’s apple roll along his throat and my mouth waters for a taste of his skin just below the sharp edge of his trimmed scruff.
Sweet baby Jesus, does he look good.
He turns those hot chocolate eyes on me, and I hesitantly lift my glass to my lips. The scent hits my nose before the spicy liquid cascades over my tongue. My throat burns from the sharp alcohol, and I sputter and cough, not nearly half as graceful as him chugging down a shot.
Zebb pats my back as I set the glass on the bar top. The movement releases me from his side and a shiver runs up my body from the absence of his warmth. When his hand settles on my nape, beneath my hair, he leans near my ear.
“Let’s step out back where we don’t have to shout.”
I nod, giving into the heat of his hand on my neck and the gentle guidance he gives as we make our way through the crowd until we reach an exit to the side yard. A canvas tent has been set up to cover another bar, and tall outdoor heaters warm the rectangular space which isn’t more than sixteen by twenty.
“So,” Zebb says once I’m leaning against the wrought iron fence lining the yard. “Eva Nazar.” He eyes me again. I’d unzipped my long jacket upon entering the bar and my coat hangs open, exposing my red skirt and knee-high boots. With thick, knee-high socks peeking out my boots, I’m dressed for protection against the cold more than fashion.
“Zebb Scroggs,” I state, taking in his flannel shirt, buttoned up but hinting at a dark t-shirt beneath it. He’s wearing dark pants and black work boots.
“What have you been up to?”
His question reminds me that this right here is why I didn’t want to attend this shindig. I don’t do small talk. I chatter all day, attempting to be cheerful with strangers who pass through Ashford’s. The last thing I want to do is recount twenty-two years in a few sentences with a man I used to know.
“We don’t need to do this,” I blurt, lifting my eyes to meet his. He’s over six feet and almost a foot taller than me even as he leans over me with a hand above my head, clutching the fence behind me.
“Do what?” His smile grows again. He was incredibly good looking as a teenager. Aging agrees with him. Those eyes. That grin. The addition of facial hair.
“It’s been a long time, Zebb.”
“And it was too short a summer.” His words cause my gaze to lock with his.
Zebb was the kind of boy you dreamed about but didn’t experience in your reality. He came from the southside of town, and everyone knew he was at Immaculate Academy on scholarship. He wasn’t judged for it, but the status gave him an edge. A hint of untouchable. Mystic even. He’s the kid you went to high school to watch but would never enter his circle. Then one night at a party near the end of senior year, he cornered me in a manner similar to our current position. Arm over my head. Fingers touching my hair. His eyes full of mirth and mischief.
And he kissed me.
The shot of fireball should have been a reminder.
Zebb tasted like cinnamon gum and something sharp, something warm and dangerously close to all I’d ever wanted when I was young.
“Okay. Let’s get the basics out of the way.” He breaks the silence that has lingered too long between us. “I majored in finance, but realized money isn’t everything.”
“Really?” I exaggerate the adverb. Money was my sole purpose. To make it. To save it.
“Now I’m a firefighter.”