“Powerslave, of course.”
She nods appreciatively, and we share a knowing look from one fan to another. “One of the best albums of all time in my opinion.”
My girl likes Iron Maiden, even though she probably wasn’t even born whenPowerslavecame out. I think I just fell in love a little bit more.
We talk about music, keeping the conversation safe. Another glass of wine later and she asks me about Ethan as a kid.
I tell her stories about what it was like growing up along the Sunset Coast.
She laughs when I tell her about the time we got caught stealing parsley from a neighbor’s yard.
“Parsley? Why the hell parsley?’
“Mom was cooking but she’d used up all the parsley from our garden. I said we’d go get her some from the shop, but Ethan convinced me to pocket the money and pick some from the neighbors.”
“Ethan was the instigator?” Cleo sounds surprised, and I pretend to look offended. “What? You think just because I wear a cut that I’m the thief?”
She laughs, and goddamn, it’s the sweetest sound I ever heard.
“No, it’s just that he seems so strait laced.”
It’s my turn to chuckle. “He’d have you believe that, but when we were growing up, he was always the one getting me into trouble.”
I tell her a few more stories, and another hour later the wine is gone and the candles have burned down.
Cleo checks her phone, and her eyes go wide.
“It’s nearly midnight.”
She looks alarmed. I can’t help but laugh.
“What happens at midnight? Do you turn into a pumpkin?”
She shakes her head, looking half exasperated and half amused.
“Some of us have to work in the morning.”
I shrug. “Take the day off. Your boss won’t know.”
She stands up from the table and takes the dishes to the kitchen. “It’s tempting, but you know my boss. He can be a real asshole.”
We both laugh because if there’s one thing Ethan isn’t, it’s an asshole.
I follow Cleo to the kitchen with the empty wineglasses in my hand. She’s slow putting the plates in the sink. The wine must be getting to her head.
When she turns around, we’re so close I can smell her musky perfume.
Her eyes look up to mine. Damn. She’s a foot shorter than me, and the way she’s looking up with her dark-rimmed eyes makes my chest swell with a need for her.
Her eyes widen at finding me so close, but she doesn’t back away. Her breath hitches and her lips part.
I could kiss her now, smudge what remains of her lipstick right off those plump lips. Her hand closes around my forearm, and I groan at her touch.
Her pupils dilate, and I see my desire reflected in her eyes. This is the moment. This is what I came here for, to kiss Cleo, to claim her and make her mine.
Her lips part, and I smell the sweet wine on her breath. She’s had too much to drink. This isn’t how I want to claim her.
I want her to be fully aware of what she’s doing. I want her to choose me because that’s what she wants, not because she’s feeling tipsy and I just happen to be here.