Like Gravity(12)

Tim had finally returned with lime slices and a salt shaker, saving me from making any small talk. He poured out four shots instead of the two I’d requested, lining them up in front of us.

“Go big or go home, ladies,” he grinned in challenge.

“Tim, we really only wanted the one round,” I said, peeved that he was either A) trying to get us drunk or B) incapable of following a simple drink order.

“Oh, come on,” he said, “Don’t be such a *.”

Oh, no. He did not just call me a *.

I grabbed my first shot, throwing it back and chasing it quickly with one of the lime slices. Placing the empty glass upside down on the bar, I reached for the other shot, fully prepared to throw it in Tim’s cocky face. I’d endured more than enough of his bullshit for one night.

As my fingers grazed the shot glass, a hand launched over my shoulder and plucked it from my grasp. I watched, stunned, as the hand carried the tequila around me and out of sight. Confused and slightly pissed that my drink-throwing plans had been undermined, I spun around to confront the shot-thief.

Oh, perfect. This night just keeps improving.

I glared as Finn threw back my tequila. He winced and leaned forward to grab a slice of lime off the bar, completely invading my personal space with his reach. His chest grazed mine as he placed the empty shot glass and lime rind back on the countertop.

“Well, that certainly wasn’t Patrón,” he complained, still standing far too close for my liking.

“That was my shot!” I said, shocked at his audacity.

“There are two more sitting right there, from what I can see,” he noted indifferently.

“Those are Lexi’s! And that isn’t exactly my point, here.”

“It doesn’t really look like Lexi is interested in them. In fact, she’s a bit preoccupied at the moment.” He jerked his head to the side, toward Lexi and Tyler, who were busy making out a few feet away.

“Jesus, that was fast,” I muttered.

Finn laughed and I felt it rumble through his chest, which was still pressed against mine. Placing both hands on his midsection I pushed hard, trying to shift him away from me. He didn’t budge, even when I put considerable weight behind the shove.

“Back off!” I snapped, exasperated by my inability to move him. “This isn't funny.”

“Fine, fine,” he chuckled, putting both hands up in a submissive gesture and taking a step back. “It’s not my fault you’re such a shrimp.”

“A shrimp? What is this, the first grade?” Rolling my eyes, I turned back to the bar and reached for another tequila shot.

“Are you always so friendly, or am I a special case?” he asked sarcastically.

“What can I say, egotistical jerks really bring out the best in me.”

“Ouch, that hurts,” he drawled, moving up next to me at the bar and grabbing the other shot glass. “You know, I’m only a jerk because I’ve been hiding my deep emotional pain. You want to come back to my place and hear about it after the show? I can open up to you, cry on your shoulder, and then afterwards you can comfort me. Preferably naked.”

“Does this shit ever actually work for you?” I asked, genuinely curious. “Do girls really fall for the emotionally-damaged-jackass ploy?”

“Usually,” he laughed, completely unashamed by his methods. “My dashing good looks and endless charm don’t hurt either.”

“Charm?” I snorted, “HA!”

“I am, in fact, very charming,” he insisted. “Most of the time.”

“So I’m just – what did you call it? – a special case, then?” I laughed, preparing to throw back my shot.

“Wait, don’t you want some salt for that? I’ll let you lick it off my hand and everything.”

“Pass. Who knows where those hands have been?” I grimaced, throwing my head back and letting the tequila burn a path down my throat. A slow warmth was beginning to spread through my body, swirling out from my stomach to fill each limb.

Finn burst into laughter at my comment.

“You’re funny,” he said, still chuckling, “And you can hold your own. We’re going to be great friends, I can tell.”

“Friends? I don’t even like you.”

“Yes you do,” he scoffed, tossing back his tequila. “Everyone likes me.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“So much sass in such a very small package,” he laughed, looking down at me.

“Speaking of very small packages,” I said, glancing at his belt buckle suggestively, “Don’t you have a set to finish?”

Ignoring my insinuation, Finn once again leaned forward into my space. I immediately moved away, until my upper back brushed against the bar. His eyes traveled leisurely down the length of my body and then back up to meet mine. Reaching out to touch my temple, he gently traced a finger over the now-concealed bruise.

“Brooklyn,” he whispered, his face inches from mine.

“What?” He was unnervingly close, leaving me no room to move away.

“You still owe me that t-shirt,” he said grinning broadly, his demeanor switching from smoldering to playful in less than a second.

“You want me to get you a t-shirt for your own band? You can get a new one whenever you want! There’s no way in hell I’m paying for it,” I growled. “And you just drank two of my shots. So we’re even.”