Stories From The 6 Train

“Tatum would love to get a drink,” Ana exclaims.

I glare at her over Evan’s shoulder. “Tatum can speak for herself.”

Evan chuckles, the deep rumble sending a shiver through my whole body. “So what does Tatum say?”

Everything about this guy exudes sex. His voice, his eyes, his mouth, his body, which—oh god—is unmistakably hard.

I want to push away from him just so I don’t do something horrifically embarrassing like rub myself against him.

I look up at him, clear blue eyes intent on my face. Here we go with the decision making. No wonder Ana felt the need to chime in. I debate with myself, knowing this is a chance of a lifetime. Drinks with Evan Anderson? I’d be an idiot to pass that up. But at the same time, I know I’m going to have Ana’s condition in my head the whole time.

I mean, I know I don’t actually have to go through with it, but the thought will be hanging over me.

Evan arches a brow. “Trying to find a way to let me down easy?”

That’s almost laughable. Someone turning him down. But as I look at him, I see the uncertainty in his eyes. This guy is known for being the cockiest of them all, yet right now, he seems anything but sure of me.

It’s kind of comforting. The idea of the full force of his over the top personality overwhelms me. But this? I can handle this. I smile up at him, the words slipping out easier than I expected.

“A drink sounds amazing.”

A huge grin takes over his face, and mine spreads wider.

Giving me a little squeeze, he leans in close. “Give me a minute.”

He steps away and chats with the other guys, and I turn to face Ana. “Don’t say a word.”

She mimes zipping her lips, locking them, and throwing a key over her shoulder, holding her hands up like she’s all innocence. I roll my eyes, but I can’t wipe the grin off my face. This didn’t go at all like I expected.

Next thing I know, Evan has me tucked back under his arm, and we’re walking out of the arena and down the busy street. “Where to?” he asks. “You know what’s good around here?”

“Yep. I know just the place.”

It’s one of my favorite bars. An old warehouse turned into a brewery. The vibe is just the right mixture of fun and chill, and they typically have live music.

We make our way there and find a spot in the back.

“So, Tatum.” He says my name slow and smooth, that voice so, so sexy. Deep and scratchy. Raw and rumbling. I love the way it sounds coming out of that mouth.

I arch a brow. “Yes, Evan?”

He chuckles. “I got the distinct impression you weren’t sure you actually wanted to meet me tonight.”

I shift uncomfortably. “Yeah, well.” How do I put this? “Fawning all over a rock star isn’t exactly my thing.”

He nods like he gets it. Smiles like he likes it.

“What do you do?” he asks, reaching up to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. The gesture is so casual, so relaxed and natural, but I feel his presence all around me, filling up the space between us.

And that’s how it is all night. Easy conversation. Laughter over drinks. Subtle touches. And a vibe that makes it seem like we’re old friends.

Other than the growing tension I feel every time he stops talking and stares at me for too long with a bit of hunger in his eyes. At least I think that’s what it is.

I almost can’t believe it when I realize that hours have passed. “Oh my god. I need to get home. I can’t believe it’s so late.”

“Or so early.”

He’s right. It’s three in the morning.