He rubs again. The feeling of his skin isn’t rough like most human men. It’s unbelievably smooth. My eyelids droop from the smooth slide of him against me.
“I got it,” he says.
I turn to the bartender as we take our seats at the bar and hold up two fingers. “Two Mermaid Margaritas, please. Can you make mine the spicy kind?”
The bartender, dressed as Sebastian the crab in all red, nods, flipping out the plastic cups from below the bar and working on our drinks.
When he places them in front of us, he chews on his lips, eyes on Mack. “Your costume is amazing,” he says.
A little flush breaks tints Mack’s skin. I hope the bartender doesn’t notice.
But the bartender is eyeing him closely. “The details. The craftsmanship. The artistry. Truly remarkable.”
Mack takes a sip of his drink, Adam’s apple bobbing. Then he scratches the side of his face. “Thanks.”
“And you’ve even done your hands. How’d you manage to get this texture? Do you mind if I touch?” the bartender asks, eyebrows raised.
“Uh—” I interject, trying to come up with an excuse. “The paint might smear if you do!”
But I shut up quickly when Mack begins to unbutton the cuff of his white sleeve, rolling it up to expose more of his scaly, muscled arm. “No, I don’t mind. Go ahead.”
He holds his heavily muscled forearm out to the bartender, who slides a finger along the scales.
The bartender shakes his head in some kind of amazement. “You did your full arms. Wow. Gorgeous work. I would never even be able to tell. My friend works in special effects, makes fake skin and shit like that all the time. Is that what you do?”
Mack pulls away and unrolls his sleeves, pulling at the cuff again. “Something like that. A man’s gotta make a living somehow, right?”
At that, the bartender smiles. “Oh honey, with cheekbones like that, I’m sure you could make a living any old which way. I don’t even need to see under the makeup to know you’ve got something good. I’d go under the sea with you, if you know what I mean.”
The light strikes Mack in such a way that I can’t help but stare. It’s true; his cheekbones are severe. His coloring is eerie. And then there’s the fin that falls down from his neck to his throat. Like a beard. It doesn’t seem so crazy anymore to think he’s handsome. I’m not the only one who sees it.
Mack lowers his head and chuckles a little. “I’m flattered. But I’m not on the market.”
The bartender looks at us both and then winks. “I get it. Have fun tonight. This round’s on me.”
“Thank you!” I raise my drink. When the bartender turns to help another customer, I tip my drink toward Mack. “Cheers.”
Mack meets me halfway, and our gazes connect as our glasses clink.
“I once heard if you don’t make eye contact when you cheers, you’ll have bad luck,” I say.
Mack’s eyes twinkle. “Hopefully, this means good luck from now on.”
My cheeks warm, and a pleasant buzz travels through my limbs. I’m not even worried about the crowd around us. The cover of a costume is protective, for both Mack and myself. I cross my legs gingerly; the material of the skirt is stretchy but still extremely tight. The very end of the skirt is ruffled to imitate a flipper.
I lean forward to fix the ruffle that’s gotten stuck in my sandal, and when I straighten back out, my wig has fallen just a bit.
“Oh shit.” I push it back on my forehead. I laugh. “Am I straightened out?”
“Here.” Mack reaches toward me, and with a delicate touch, he brushes the hair out of my eyes, tucking it gently behind my ears.
When he moves away, I mimic the motion, tucking the hair behind my ear again. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Then the sight of his little fin beard catches my eye. It looks so soft in this lighting. I wonder what it feels like. I lean forward and reach out my hand, dragging my fingertips down the length of the blueish-green strands.
Immediately, Mack’s eyes go heavy, rolling back in his head. “You shouldn’t . . .” He swallows hard. “You shouldn’t touch me there.”
I let go, brows raised, hands up in the air like I’m being arrested. “I’m sorry. It just looked so . . . enticing for some reason. I didn’t mean to hurt you—”
But he closes his eyes, wincing. “It doesn’t hurt, it’s just that . . .”
“What?” I ask because everything about this man is truly a mystery.
“It’s just that it’s kind of an . . . erogenous zone. For me. I mean, it turned into one.”
My jaw drops. “What do you mean an erogenous zone?”
“This is embarrassing.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. I’ve never been more interested in a piece of information in my entire life.”
He takes a beat, then straightens up. I notice he’s shifting around a bit in his chair. I glance down to see what’s going on in his pants, and there’s definitely some tentage happening. “It’s basically another dick. But it’s hidden in these fins.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Mack. I know I’m drunk right now and miles from my actual home that I never ever leave. But don’t fuck with me. I can’t take it.”
He smiles a little sheepishly and scrubs his hand down his face. “I’m not fucking with you, Jules. I’m telling you the goddamn truth.”
