Sinful

My heart pounds in my chest, and my mouth is almost too dry from the retching. But, fuck it. At least he’s young and has all his hair. My gaze darts to what he’s drinking—champagne straight out of the bottle—Cristal.

I moisten my lips, thirsty all of a sudden. “Are you going to drink that all by yourself?” My voice sounds confident, even though I’m really not.

Eyes twinkling, he cocks his head. “Why?”

“Because sharing is caring.”

He laughs at that. “You just hurled in a bush.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “And nothing came out.”

He raises both brows but then shrugs as he walks toward me, offering me the half-consumed bottle, flashing the rings on his fingers as he does. His kissable lips are curved up at the ends, full of mirth.

I take his offer. The bottle is cold to the touch, a sharp contrast to the brush of fingers against mine. I smile—a sexy one. Then I knock back the heavy bottle, reveling in the cold fizz on my tongue while studying the rings that adorn his fingers. One of them is a raven mid-flight set in silver.

He sits down next to me on the swing, and I budge over to give him some space, drinking more of the champagne.

“Do I get a name?” he asks.

I pause and take another drink.

“Blake.” The lie rolls off my tongue smoothly. I chase it down with another swig of alcohol.

He grins, eyes sparkling. “Well, Blake, your boyfriend’s loss is my gain.”

I’ve never had a boyfriend, but I don’t correct him. “Do you have a name?” I ask, smiling between sips of cold champagne.

“Romain,” he says, arching a brow.

“Pretty name.”

“Pretty face. You’re not from here,” he muses.

“No shit.” I make extra sure not to slur my words like I do when I’m nervous (or drunk). No one needs to know where I’m from.

He grins at me. “Why are you out here anyway? Not fun inside the bar?”

“It’s pretentious, and so far up its own ass, I couldn’t stand another minute inside,” I say truthfully, passing back his bottle.

He laughs, a rich sound, and knocks back a mouthful of the Cristal.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Everything. You’re different. I like it.”

“Why are you out here?”

“Because it’s pretentious and so far up its own ass, I couldn’t stand another minute inside,” he drawls, a cheeky smile on his full lips.

Full, kissable lips.

A flutter of desire has me biting my lower lip.

We talk for a while longer, drinking until the bottle is dry, my ribs ache from laughing so much, and my crotch is well…soaked. How can someone turn me on with just a look? I learn Romain is from this area, he grew up around here, and he likes the same music and books as I do.

As the lights in the bar dim, signaling closing time, I dart a glance at him, unable to drag my eyes from those lips.

I should go back home.