Page 8 of Tank’s Weakness

I can’t help but frown when he doesn’t say please. He must catch the look because he quickly corrects himself.

“Please,” he adds, making the bartender smirk.

Once we both have drinks, he leads me to a booth, tucked into the corner.

I take a sip and then set the can down, slightly away from me. It tastes delicious, and I think under normal circumstances I would enjoy it, but not on a school night.

“Don’t like it?” he asks, reading me once again.

“I do, but I have an early morning. Work.”

“What do you do?” he asks as he takes a drink.

“I’m an elementary school teacher.”

A smile crosses his face. “No shit?”

I can’t help but smile. “No shit. What do you do?”

“I’m a mechanic and I help a buddy with construction when he needs it.”

Tilting my head, I study him. “That makes sense. I can see you doing both.”

He smirks and takes a drink. “Are you from around here?”

I nod. “Yeah, born and raised. Went down to Florida State for college but moved back after graduation when I got a job here.”

“Did you start teaching at the school you went to?” he teases, making me laugh.

“No, but they did give me an offer. I thought it would be weird replacing one of my old teachers.”

He tips his head back and laughs. “I could see how that would be awkward as fuck.”

“What about you? Are you from here?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, I’m from Boston actually.”

“What brought you here?” I ask as I start to relax into the booth.

For some reason talking to Tank is easy. So easy that I almost forget that we just met.

“My brothers. We decided to ditch the snow and come south.”

I doubt that’s the whole story, but I don’t push.

“Did you really ditch it though, or did you bring it with you? We’ve gotten snow the last couple of years,” I quip, making him smirk.

“Yeah, I totally brought it with me.”

“You made the airport shut down,” I joke, making us both laugh.

“My apologies, ma’am,” he quips.

“Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.” I smile.

Easy. It’s just so easy with him, it’s wild. Blaine was right about one thing: Tank isn’t my type. Usually I go for the clean-cut, no-tattoos type, but maybe that’s where I went wrong. Was I judging men based on their appearance because of what I have always been told to want?

Under my lashes, I study the man in front of me, and there’s no denying he’s attractive, in a bad boy sort of way. His hair is pushed back away from his face, on one side he has writing along his hairline, and then on the other side he has a sider. Then above one eyebrow he has a Roman numeral while below his eye on the right side he has a cross and on the other a heart. He’s got a hoop in his nose and a beard, something I never thought was attractive until now. The tattoos on his neck drop down beneath his shirt and are partially hidden by his beard. That damn beard…