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Summary
[Formerly titled: wildflower, fingertips on me (i can feel them still)
“I can be your dick appointment. Until you find somebody better.”
(Like a boyfriend?)
He gives her elbows an encouraging, friendly squeeze, ignoring the flutter that feels like robin’s wings in his throat. And what that might mean.
Forces himself to focus his gaze on her, the sound of a blood-stirring lovesong from the band in this Irish bar percolating in his head, and ignores, ignores, ignores.
“You’re already spectacular, and beautiful, and basically perfect girlfriend material. Might find a good man before tomorrow night. And if you do, I won’t take it personally.”
Oh, all the whiskey in this bar wouldn’t be enough to wash that lie out of his mouth.
(A Friends-With-Benefits situation that goes EXACTLY how you think it does.)