Pulse (Collide) (55 page)

Craig looked back towards the bar where Blaine was still helping a customer. “Who, B? Nah. He doesn’t have a girl. Not anymore. Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” Angel replied, darting her eyes to me. She was up to no good, which was usually the case. Before she could inquire if Blaine was a boxer or briefs guy, the older, bearded guy that served me earlier poked his head from behind a door a few yards away and summoned Craig to the back.

“I think it’s time to go,” I said, forcing myself not to look towards the bar.

“What? I haven’t had nearly enough to drink!” And with that, Angel waved directly towards the area I was trying to avoid.

Seconds later, Blaine was in front of us, his tattooed hands grasping the edge of the table. His presence brought it all back to me…his scent, his taste, the way his body was a work of art that I wanted to paint with my tongue. All the reasons why I most definitely should not speak to him again.

“Hey Blaine, can we get a couple more? And don’t forget to grab a shot for you too,” Angel winked.

“He can have mine,” I mumbled, refusing to look at him.

I felt a lone finger brush against my forehead, pushing a lock of hair behind my ear. Then it traced the curve of my earlobe, making me shiver. His touch resumed the pesky pounding in my chest.

“Are you sure, Kami?” he asked with a husky voice. The same voice he used with me before as he described my eyes, my hair, my lips…and what should be done to them.

Unable to string a sentence together, I simply nodded. Blaine made no move to leave. He kept touching me, like feeling my skin was the most natural thing in the world to him. Slowly, he leaned down to me, coming in so close that his scent of mint and spice filled my nostrils. We were almost eye-level, and I couldn’t do more than hold my breath with anticipation. I should have been scared by his touch. I should have stopped him before he moved any closer into my personal space. But I just…couldn’t.

“Hey, you don’t have to pretend anymore,” he said just above a whisper.

“Pretend?” I exhaled, the word coming out in a rush. What does he know of my pretending? There’s no way I could be that transparent. I’d had years of practice.

“Yeah,” he grinned crookedly. “CJ’s gone. You can stop pretending…that you girls are together. That you’re gay.”

“Excuse me?” Angel piped up, her voice laced with annoyance. “What makes you think that we’re pretending to be gay?”

Blaine’s eyes darted to Angel for a split second, and he shook his head lightly. “Not you.” Then his chocolate brown gaze was back on me, sweeping over every inch of my face. It was like he was studying every feature, trying to unveil some big mystery. “Her. She’s pretending.”

“How do you know I’m not a lesbian too?” I asked. The question was meant to come out with a trace of attitude, but it ended up being breathy and light.

As if the sound of my betraying voice amused him, Blaine flashed that boyish grin. My tenacity was going…going….gone.

“Because I’m pretty sure you’re feeling the same thing I’m feeling right now.”

Then he did something that had me yanking my purse open, throwing down a twenty, and high-tailing it out of there in 3.5 seconds.

He took off his worn cap and ran a hand through his hair, the light brown locks settling into perfectly messy “just-fucked” hair. Hair I wanted to grab and tug while his tongue slid against mine. Hair that I wanted to feel tickling my sensitive areas while he worked me over with that metal-studded tongue.

I was in my car and flying out of the parking lot before Angel even made it outside.

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2013 Syreeta L. Jennings