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I didn’t understand their dynamic, but it didn’t seem sexual. I blamed curiosity for bringing me closer to their table.
“What about that guy?” She pointed toward the bar.
As if he felt my eyes on him, Shane looked over his shoulder and did a double take when he saw me. He leaned into the woman and spoke in her ear.
“Where?” Her voice rose above the noise of the bar. “Theguy?“ Her head turned on a swivel.
Shane said something else I couldn’t hear, and the woman’s head swung in my direction.
Without meaning to, I joined them, setting my tumbler on their table.
“Hey,” Shane said, gripping the woman’s arm so hard he dented her skin.
“So, you’re the guy, huh? I’m Sara, Shane’s sister.” She stuck out her hand, and I shook it, nodding hello. She gestured for me to say something.
“I’m Cole. The guy who tattooed Shane.”
“You got a tattoo, you little shit! Show me.” Sara two-hand shoved Shane.
Shane tumbled sideways, and I caught him perpendicular to the floor, then hefted him upright. My hands stayed on him too long, taking effort to let go.
“What do you mean, I’m ‘the guy?’”
They both ignored me and had a staring contest. A weird sensation took root in my chest as I imagined what she meant by “the guy.”
“I’m not showing you yet.” Shane crossed his arms over his chest, protecting the tattoo. His eyes shifted to mine. “Tell her it’s unsanitary, and I can’t show her until it’s healed.”
I wouldn’t deny those big brown eyes. “It really isn’t a good idea,” I said, and Sara tsked. “Why am I the guy?” I asked again, unable to let it go.
Sara opened her mouth, but Shane slapped his hand over it. “No. You’ve bossed me around enough tonight. You don’t say another word.”
Sara was laughing behind Shane’s long fingers. He slowly drew his hand away, and she pursed her lips, miming locking her mouth and throwing away the key. I imagined they’d done this since they were kids. Sara folded her hand in her lap under the table, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she spoke up again.
Shane stole a glance at me and turned that pretty shade of pink. “This is not happening.” He propped his elbows on the table and rested his forehead on his hands.
The sane thing would be to let him off the hook and walk away. I was incapable of doing that.
“Weeeell, you see—“
“Did I or did I not tell you not to talk anymore?” Shane hissed at Sara. “I know you’re trying to help, but for the love of God, I’m an adult. You need to stop trying to micromanage my life.”
Sara sat in stunned silence as if it never occurred to her that Shane didn’t want her help. I selfishly wanted to hear his thoughts directly from him.
Shane turned to me, eyes blazing. “Do you want the truth?” he asked, and I nodded. “I don’t think you do.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, determined to hear his answer.
Sara dug her ringing phone out of her purse in the middle of our stare down. “Shit.” She pressed her phone to her ear. “Hello...no not...how about...” Her face morphed to horror, and she sped away from the table.
My eyebrow rose waiting for Shane’s answer.
“Do you want to hear that I hate not knowing if you remembered meeting me the week before you tattooed me? That having your hands on me made me question everything I thought I knew about myself and turned my world upside down? And my sister’s solution was to bring me to a gay bar to try to pick up a guy. Is that what you anticipated? Because I hardly know you and Iknowyou didn’t want to hear all that.“ Shane’s breath was ragged, and his chest heaved.
I’d frozen and managed a slow blink, trying to make sense of his confession. That was definitely not what I had expected. I was reasonably sure Shane had just come out to me.
Sara reappeared flustered and flapped a hand at Shane. “C’mon, we gotta go. Now.” She held her purse like a life jacket in front of her.
Shane rushed to untangle his legs from around the stool. “What is happening right now?”