“Nah. Hubs is from the klepto.”
“The klepto, huh? You have a very colorful history, Mr. Roth.”
“It's Nanny Roth, remember?” I ask, dropping my voice a notch.
Brooke ignores me, turning her music up and then jamming to an admittedly sick guitar solo with her fingers. I tap my hands along with the music and we get into this double groove which is awesome. I love a girl that can let go and have fun, especially one with as much shit going on in their lives as Brooke's got.
When we hit the buzz of Old Town, I snag a spot near the brewery and hop around to Brooke's side of the car to let her out, wrapping her arm through mine as we walk down brick paved sidewalks towards the sounds of live jazz. The murmur of the crowd softens the sound as we head over to Main Street and find ourselves in a laid-back crowd of locals and artists, booths with postcards and prints and paintings everywhere. The old fashioned streetlights are strung up with Edison bulbs and everything just has this amazing glow to it.
“Whoa. Such a different vibe than Vegas,” I say as I pause and watch the crowd stream by. There's no glitz and glamour here, just a modest street fair lit up by the people involved in it, peddling handmade goods from booths, the local shops that usually close at dusk displaying their wares on the streets, doors flung wide. It smells like weed and the breeze off the bay, and it is fan-tab-ulous.
“Homesick?” Brooke asks as the big band jazz croons its sweet melody into the crowd. I look down at her in her flouncy pink peasant top, a bit of black lace bra showing, those white legs of hers sculpted and sexy as they taper into the too-big-for-her brown boots she's wearing.
“Fuck no.” I drag Brooke into the crowd, weaving us through the mass until we get to the beer garden set up in front of the stage. I order us a pair of pints and lead Brooke over to one of the tall tables in the center. People are drinking and dancing, swaying with the music. Laughter sweetens the air as Brooke and I clink glasses and down some nasty ass tasting local ale. But hell, I'm already enjoying myself and we just got here. Now imagine how that finale between me and Brooke is gonna feel …
“Want to dance?” she asks, surprising me as she finishes her beer and holds out a hand. I raise my brows and reach out to take it, letting her lead me into the fray. She guides my hands exactly where she wants them, placing one on either of her hips as she wraps her arms around my neck. The warm feel of her body against mine is so goddamn intoxicating. And I love-love-love the fact that I'm out with her in public, all these people seeing us dancing together. I want to lay my claim on her in front of all of them.
Um. What? Jesus Christ, Zayden.
I put a huge red stop sign on all of that shit and focus on the way Brooke's breasts squish against my chest. Her hands feel like brands on the back of my neck, burning hot prints into my skin as we swirl and rock in an inexpert little waltz, doing our best to match the music.
She smiles at me the whole time, her hair swinging with the motions, her mouth painted with this silly peach-pink color that makes her look several years younger than her fresh-face really needs. But wow. Those lips are full and they curve in the most sinuous sort of way. Her lashes are long and dark and the eyes they frame are brimming with intelligence. She is, like, so much smarter than I am it's not even funny.
When the song ends, Brooke pulls away laughing and does this stupid little jig that I can only credit the alcohol with.
“Are you a lightweight?” I ask as I lean my elbow against the tall surface of the table and watch her finish off the rest of my beer.
“Not really,” she tells me as she slams the empty glass down on the table. “I just feel like this might be my last night to go out for a while. With the new job and class and the girls, it's only going to get harder, especially without you around.” She pauses and flicks her gaze up to me, blushing a little before she turns away. “You know, because I'll have to find a babysitter.” A pause before she looks back and smiles at me. “And a new lover.” Brooke leans across the table toward me and I let her put her mouth against my ear. “Because … I think I'm starting to get addicted to having sex.”
“Whoa, whoa, baby. Listen to you, you dirty bitch.” I wink at her and she laughs, taking my hand and leading me out to the street. We parade up and down Main, checking out the booths and disappearing into crowded shops filled with black and white photos, dragon statues, glass bongs, and all sorts of ocean inspired art.
Brooke buys herself a stupid white wool cap with a pink flower and a snags a few colorful pinwheels for the kids from a local artist, jamming them into a knitted brown and orange bag she buys from yet another vendor.