Never Never (Never Never #1)(33)

She can roll her eyes all she wants. It doesn’t change how she reacted to my fingers trailing across the back of her neck.

I watch her walk toward the restaurant, and realize that I have her figured out already. The more she likes me, the more closed off she becomes. The more sarcasm she inflicts on me. Vulnerability makes her feel weak, so she’s pretending to be tougher than she really is. I think the old Silas knew this about her, too. Which is why he loved her, because apparently he liked the game they played.

Apparently I do too, because once again, I’m following her.

We walk through the door of the restaurant and Charlie says, “Two people, booth please,” before the hostess even has a chance to ask. At least she said please.

“Right this way,” the woman says.

The restaurant is quiet and dark, a stark contrast to the noise and neon lights of Bourbon Street. We both breathe a collective sigh of relief once we’re seated. The waitress hands us our menus and takes our drink order. Every now and then, Charlie lifts a hand to the back of her neck as if she can feel the outline of the tattoo.

“What do you think it means?” she says, still staring at the menu in front of her.

I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe you liked forests?” I glance up at her. “These fairy tales you talked about. Did they all take place in forests? Maybe the man who needs to break your spell with a kiss is a strapping lumberjack, living in the woods.”

Her eyes meet mine and I can tell my jokes are aggravating her. Or maybe she’s aggravated because she thinks I’m funny. “Stop making fun of me,” she says. “We woke up without our memories at the exact same time, Silas. Nothing is more absurd than that. Even fairy tales with lumberjacks.”

I smile innocently and look down at my hand. “I have callouses,” I tell her, lifting my hand and pointing at the rough skin of my palm. “I could be your lumberjack.”

She rolls her eyes again, but laughs this time. “You probably have callouses from jerking off too much.”

I hold up my right hand. “But they’re on both hands, not just my left.”

“Ambidextrous,” she deadpans.

We both grin as our drinks are placed in front of us. “Ready to order?” the waitress asks.

Charlie quickly scans the menu and says, “I hate that we can’t remember what we like.” She looks up at the waitress. “I’ll take a grilled cheese,” she says. “It’s safe.”

“Burger and fries, no mayo,” I tell her. We hand her back our menus and I refocus on Charlie. “You aren’t eighteen yet. How could you get a tattoo?”

“Bourbon Street doesn’t seem to be a stickler for the rules,” she says. “I probably have a fake ID hidden somewhere.”

I open the search engine on my phone. “I’ll try to figure out what it means. I’ve gotten pretty good at this Google thing.” I spend the next few minutes searching every possible meaning of trees and forests and clusters of trees. Just when I think I’m on to something, she pulls my phone away and sets it on the table.

“Get up,” she says as she stands. “We’re going to the bathroom.” She grabs my hand and pulls me out of the booth.

“Together?”

She nods. “Yep.”

I look at the back of her head as she walks away from me, then back at the empty booth. What the…

“Come on,” she says over her shoulder.

I follow her to the hallway that leads to the restrooms. She pushes open the women’s and peeks inside, then pulls her head out. “It’s a single stall. It’s empty,” she says, holding the door open for me.

I pause and look at the men’s restroom, which looks perfectly fine, so I don’t know why she’s—

“Silas!” She grabs my arm and pulls me inside the restroom. Once we’re inside, I half expect her to wrap her arms around my neck and kiss me because…why else would we be in here together?

“Take off your shirt.”

I look down at my shirt.

I look back up at her. “Are we…are we about to make out? Because I didn’t picture it going down like this.”

She groans and reaches forward, pulling at the hem of my shirt. I help her pull it over my head when she says, “I want to see if you have any tattoos, dumbass.”

I deflate.

I feel like an eighteen-year-old who’s just been blue-balled. I guess I kind of am…

She turns me around and, when I face the mirror, she gasps. Her eyes are fixated on my back. My muscles tense beneath her touch as her fingertips meet my right shoulder blade. She traces a circle, spanning a radius of several inches. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to control my pulse. I suddenly feel drunker than everyone on Bourbon Street combined. I’m gripping the counter in front of me because her fingers…my skin.

“Jesus,” I groan, dropping my head between my shoulders. Focus, Silas.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, pausing her inspection of my tattoo. “It doesn’t hurt does it?”

I release a laugh, because her hands on me are the opposite of pain. “No, Charlie. It doesn’t hurt.”

My eyes meet hers in the mirror and she stares at me for several seconds. When what she’s doing to me finally registers, she glances away and pulls her hand from my back. Her cheeks flush.