Page 16 of Just My Type (The Boston Hearts #3)

I don’t know how, but I know she’s telling the truth, and breathe a sigh of relief, flopping backwards.

Twice is twice too many, but at least it wasn’t more.

“The night at the bar three years ago, and then once the day you came to Boston this past winter. When I saw you at my parents’ house. You had bruises on your wrists then.”

“You mean the day you went all caveman and dropped to your knees in front of me, demanding I tell you who did that to me?”

I point at her. “Listen, Han. Anytime. An. Ny. Time you want me to get on my knees for you, I will do exactly that. Sounds like you don’t just need someone to show you how you deserve to be treated out of bed. I think you need someone to show you what it feels like to be worshipped in bed too.”

Hannah downs the rest of her drink. Her fifth? Sixth? I lost count of hers and my own. “Are you volunteering as tribute?” she asks dryly.

The server drops another round of drinks at our table, and I down mine. “Don’t test me, Gorgeous. My inhibitions are low right now, and you are the most beautiful woman in the entire world.”

Hannah’s eyes go wide, and she opens her mouth, but before she can speak, the microphone feedback fills the room again just before the booming voice of the MC.

“Is Hannah Evans still in the room? Looks like our resident queen of Rent is back for an encore, and this time, it’s a duet! Come on up, Ms. Hannah. Your stage awaits.”

The room bursts into applause and Hannah grins, jumping off her stool and swaying on her feet. I’m next to her in an instant, wrapping an arm around her waist as much to steady her as myself. You know that thing where you don’t realize how drunk you are until you stand up?

Yeah. That.

I lean my mouth close to Hannah’s ear, loving the way goosebumps spread over her skin, and the smell of her vanilla shampoo fills my nose. “What did you do, Han?”

She turns to me, our faces inches apart. If I leaned forward just slightly, my lips would be on hers and fuck, I want that.

Hannah grabs my face in her hands, keeping her face close. “We’re singing a duet! Come on, Noah. Do this with me. It’ll be fun.”

Her face is wide open and bright, and her eyes are full of fun. As if I could ever say no to her. Ever. About anything. I take her hand, lacing our fingers together. I would follow her anywhere.

“Lead the way.”

We stumble to the stage, and the MC hands each of us a microphone. Hannah pulls her hand from mine and takes a few steps backward, locking eyes with me. The move is so hot I completely forget to ask her what song we’re singing.

Hannah smiles and pops a hip, touching her tongue to her upper teeth, the only sign of all the alcohol she’s consumed her flushed cheeks and the way she sways just slightly on her feet.

Then she winks at me and says, “Tell me about it…stud,” channeling Olivia Newton-John in all her Grease era glory.

In two seconds flat, all the blood in my body rushes to my dick so fast I don’t realize that the music starts, and I would have missed my cue if it weren’t for the challenging gaze and sly smirk Hannah levels at me.

Like she knows exactly what effect this is all having on me and is daring me to get my shit together and get on her level.

Challenge accepted, baby .

With my eyes on hers, I run my hand through my hair in my best Danny Zuko impression, give her my most smoldering stare, and croon I’ve got chills right on the beat.

I wink. Hannah’s eyes flash. Our gazes stay locked as we sing, circling each other, neither of us needing to look at the scrolling lyrics.

No one else is in the room. It’s Hannah and me, and the song and this thing between us that feels like the most delicious game I’ve ever played.

Hannah runs her finger down my torso. To my heart I must be true .

I cup her face in my hands. Nothin’ left for me to do .

Rests her hands on my hips. Feel your way .

Slide my hands around her waist and tug her against me. If I’m gonna prove .

Pushes me away with a hand flat on my chest and narrowed eyes. You better prove .

She slides her hand into mine, our faces close enough that I smell the sweet alcohol on her breath, and it makes my head spin in the best way that only has a little to do with all the drinks. The one I need, oh yes indeed .

We finish the song like that. Eyes locked. Hearts pounding. Chests heaving. Body against body. Breaths mingling.

I barely even notice the MC take our mics or the wild applause of the crowd. Hannah is all I hear. All I see. The way her eyes darken and heat makes me think I’m all she sees too.

A quiet part of my brain is trying to yell at me that whatever is happening right now is a bad idea, but that part is drowned out by copious amounts of whiskey and the smell of Hannah’s hair and the way her hand grips mine and the feel of her body against me when I slide my arm around her waist so we can both make it off the stage and stay upright.

It’s by unspoken agreement that we turn the corner by the stage and head down a darkened hallway instead of back to our table.

It’s the undeniable electricity between us that has me spinning us around and pressing Hannah against the concrete wall, one hand on her hip and one hand flat on the wall beside her head.

It’s wild, uncontrollable attraction that has us leaning into each other, our mouths hovering inches apart.

We stay like that, neither of us making the last move, the tension simmering between us, heavy and sexy and full of anticipation.

Hannah drops her gaze to my mouth and then back up to meet me. She glides her tongue along her lower lip and curls her fingers into the fabric of my shirt, never taking her eyes off mine.

“What are you waiting for, Noah baby? You going to kiss me or what?”

It’s the baby that does me in. Drunk Noah really likes when drunk Hannah calls him baby.

“I don’t know, Gorgeous,” I rasp, moving impossibly closer to her, my lips practically brushing hers as I speak. “Maybe you should kiss me first.”

And she does.

When Hannah rises to her tiptoes and presses her mouth to mine, I’m done for.

Gone. Dead. RIP me. The touch of her lips to mine ruins me, and when she opens for me, moaning as I swipe my tongue inside to taste her, I know that nothing will ever be the same again.

Because Hannah tastes like tequila and sweetness and a stolen Vegas night and everything I’ve ever wanted .

I tangle a hand in her hair and slide an arm around her back.

She winds her arms around me, and we tug each other closer, closer, closer until there is no space between us at all.

We’re mouths and tongues and teeth. Groans and sighs and moans and unsteady legs as we hold onto each other to stay upright as the room swims around us.

When we break apart, we stare at each other for a beat.

Hannah’s lips are wet, and her breaths come in soft pants, and her hair is a mess from my hands.

The tiny part of my brain that isn’t soaked in whiskey knows that what just happened is huge and important and maybe even a mistake.

But the part that is knows that Hannah’s skin feels soft under my hands and I might actually die if I don’t get my lips back on hers and I don’t want to stop touching her for the rest of my life.

“You sure can kiss.” Hannah’s words are slurred. Her lips tilt up in a smirk, and I lean in, taking her mouth again in a kiss that tastes like laughter.

“I love this night,” she whispers against my lips. “What other kind of trouble can we get into?”

I grin, licking her lower lip and chuckling when she gasps. “Stick with me, Gorgeous. There is so much more Vegas fun to be had.”

I send a drunken wish out into the universe that what happens in Vegas doesn’t stay in Vegas this time.

I grab Hannah’s hand and pull her out of the bar into the crowd.

She tells me her feet hurt and jumps on my back, laughing her head off, and then I’m laughing too.

From that moment on, it’s all a blurry haze of more drinks and singing our way down the sidewalk and food truck tacos and I think, somehow, a missing shoe as Hannah and I hold onto each other and steal kisses and stumble our way down the strip, all the way to morning.