Less than two minutes later, I’m tucked in Nevin’s arms, and our chests are pressed together. We sway to and fro somewhere in the middle of the room to a slow and romantic song by Sam Smith. Kisses dot my forehead, cheek, and my lips. The kiss on my lips is almost as strong as the Dixie chicks’ Pittsburgh Dazzle and practically knocks me off my feet. Unfortunately, it doesn’t last very long, ending far too soon.
It’s the perfect time to get to know a little more about the sexy bartender, and I decide to play yet another game with him, Twenty Questions. My first question is simple.
“Where do you live, Mr. McBane?”
“Walking distance from here. Three blocks. I have a place on Shelton Avenue. A small apartment overlooking the Monongahela River.”
I feel his junk against my junk. Both areas
