Page 10 of Entangled

“You didn’t answer my last one.”

“Technically, you didn’t ask, just stated a fact.”

“And yet, you didn’t tell me your name all the same.”

I stop, planting my hands on my hips and tilting my head back, looking him full in the face. “So you resort to tequila-napping?”

An unconcerned shrug rolls off his wide shoulders and he takes a step closer to me, night-forest eyes flowing over my face. “Just working with what you’ve given me.”

“Well I’m taking it back.”

“Not that easy.” His lips twitch up and he starts to walk again, leaving me with little choice but to trail after him, prickling with irritation despite what he’s doing for my libido.

“What do you mean ‘Not that easy?’”

“Let’s play a game.” His darkly mischievous gaze meets mine as he taps the bottle. “A sip for an answer.”

“Let me remind you, I bought the tequila.” I reach out and grab onto the hand holding the bottle, bringing him to a stop. “Tell me why exactly I would play a game to drink what’s rightfully mine.”

He reaches out and gently grasps the arm hanging loosely at my side. “I would have happily bought you ten bottles of tequila if that’s what you had wanted. But we both know that’s not what you had in mind when we walked out of that bar.” Grip loosening, he trails his fingers up my arm lightly as he steps in, bringing his mouth to my ear. “As for why, exactly, to play my little game. If I’m going to do half of what I’m imagining to you tonight, I’m going to at least need to get to know you a little first.”

Well… fuck. I mean, he’s right, but… fuck.

His words leave the neurons in my brain misfiring and it takes me a couple breaths to realize he’s started walking again. I turn to catch him, slightly unsettled by the shift in our power dynamic. But that’s okay… I’ll let him think he’s getting what he wants for a while and then turn the tables on him. The prospect of the game sends excitement shooting through my veins and I realize it’s been forever since I’ve played with someone so equally matched.

“Fine,” I agree, coming up beside him. “But the same deal goes for you.”

“Done.” He nods in agreement and passes me the bottle. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.” I take a small sip and pass it back to him. “Like the Taylor Swift song. You?”

“Twenty-five. Three years past her prime.”

I snort a laugh at his words and see his lips twitch in turn, humor peeking out from his eyes.

“Where are you from?”

“LA, you?”

“A little bit everywhere recently. Work keeps me moving around a lot. But whenever I’m not working, Costa Rica is my home base.”

“What do you do?” I ask, rolling my eyes at him when he gives me the side-eye for asking a question out of turn.

“I’m a project-based consultant for businesses in need of specialized services. What I do varies from project to project.”

“Okay, nonanswer.” I scoff. “Remember that one when I give you an equally vague response to one of your questions.”

“It’s complicated.” He shrugs. “What about you?”

“Fortunately for you, my answer to that is straightforward.” I throw him a bratty wink. “I’m a photographer, or that’s the plan at least. This is my first stop on a postgrad trip to expand my portfolio. Next up is Peru, then Rio, and last is Chile.”

“Such a baby.” That low, dark laugh leaves him as his eyes run the length of me. The sound is captivating, like the hushed moans of forbidden trysts uttered deep in the night.

“You’re only three years older than me.”

He brings the bottle to his lips and takes a quick sip before answering.

“True. But a number doesn’t always equal what someone’s learned in life. Age doesn’t always bring wisdom.”

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