“So you get all pissy, ready to punch some guy who jostled your drink?” Layla retorted hotly.
Something vicious flashed in Luke’s emerald eyes. But he held his temper in check for the moment, at least. “I’m not the one who wanted to come out and get plastered at a meat-market of college undergrads!”
“No, that was Arron.” Layla snapped, irate. “And I needed a distraction, Luke. Searching for jobs all day and all night sucks! I’ve applied to like eighty jobs and had ten interviews but no bites! I need a break. This is my break.”
“Fuck this place. Let’s go home, Layla.” Moving in close, Luke kissed her neck, hot and desirous. “I don’t want to fight tonight.”
“Then let me dance!”
Layla pulled back but Luke held her firm, gazing down with heat in his eyes. “I don’t want to see you out on the dance floor with other men.”
“Then fucking get out there with me!”
“I don’t dance. You know that.”
Layla growled, frustrated. Pushing out of Luke’s arms, she felt a fierce heat rise in her chest. It felt like it had coils and barbs, her skin suddenly hot and itchy everywhere. Her left wrist throbbed, and looking down, Layla saw the red hamsa-mark standing out beneath the gold bracelets she’d worn tonight. She hadn’t intentionally worn the Moroccan cuff since the night she’d first dreamt of her mystery man, but the mark would flare when she got pissed – usually because of Luke. Scratching at it fiercely, Layla couldn’t tame the itch or the heat inside her that fueled it.
“I’m going back to the bar. Follow me and get your face busted right now, Luke.”
“Layla!”
But she was already pushing away from the low-lit bathroom area into the steamy crowd of the open gallery. Moving back to the bar, Layla saw a woman vacating a barstool and she shoved her way dominantly towards it, beating out two girls and one guy also making a beeline for the stool. The women scowled and moved away, but the guy Layla suddenly found herself face to face with was none other than the cute hazel-eyed Tom Collins from the night she’d been fired.
They blinked at each other and then Tom Collins grinned, gesturing to the stool so Layla could claim it. Wearing dark jeans, a snappy grey blazer, and an expensive white shirt, he had his signature drink in one hand, the top buttons of his shirt undone with no tie, baring nice collarbones. As Layla slid up to the barstool, he leaned in, shouting near her ear in his nice baritone, “Fancy seeing you here!”
“Tom Collins, right?” Layla nodded at his drink in its tall Collins glass with a lemon wedge and cherry garnish, finding herself smiling despite her earlier tension. He had a friendly energy about him; a calmness she never felt around Luke’s maelstrom. His hazel eyes sparkled as he lifted his drink with a pleased smile; Layla saw his irises were a beautiful combination of vivid green and golden-brown, like the rainforests of the Olympic Peninsula.
“You know me well!” He joked breezily, sidling in so he leaned against the bar, out of the press of the crowd.
“I don’t know you at all, except that you have horrible friends!” Layla bantered back. “Where are they tonight, anyway?” The frat guys he’d been with at Liberty Bar were nowhere in sight; he looked like he was alone tonight.
“Those asshats?” He grinned, showing lovely teeth. “I was on contract with their company for a few months. The contract’s done. So I’m done with them.”
“Wise.”
“Absolutely.” Hailing the bartender, he ordered an Old Fashioned. The man nodded and set to as Tom Collins turned back to Layla.
“Not your usual order!” Layla yelled as he settled in beside her.
“It’s not for me!” He yelled back, watching the press of bodies grinding on the dance floor but grinning sidelong at her. The drink arrived and Tom Collins nodded it toward Layla. She collected it from the bartender, aware that her new friend had not only been a gentleman to order her a drink, but hadn’t made a motion to touch it and make her fear contamination. Layla turned back as she sipped.
“So what brings you here tonight?” He yelled over casually.
“My housemates!” Layla yelled back, gesturing with her drink to Arron, who was now unapologetically making out with his hot Latino. They were getting very handsy; it was clear Arron had claimed his tryst for the night. Layla was reasonably certain she’d be saying hello to Julian or Alejandro or Javier at breakfast in the morning – probably dressed in Arron’s back-up silk robe, a peacock-patterned design.
“They’re having a good time!” Tom Collins grinned at her. “So why aren’t you?”
“My boyfriend is a prat!”
“Ah!” He looked crestfallen, but took it in good stride. “First job trouble, now boyfriend trouble? Can’t a girl catch a break?”
“I guess not!” Layla laughed, spontaneous – something she didn’t do much these days. He’d pulled it out of her and she was grateful.
Tom Collins grinned at her and they clinked glasses. He was watching her now as they sipped. Something about him was more alert tonight, as he watched her with a peculiar interest. But he didn’t say anything else and Layla found herself suddenly curious about him. At first glance he seemed like a regular late-twenties Seattle tech guy, gaining new money and spending it well rather than flaunting it.
But looking deeper, Layla found he was actually intensely alluring. Lean and tall, his slim suit jacket fit him perfectly; an effortless sexiness. Layla had been so furious at Theresa when she’d been fired from the bar that she’d not actually seen Tom Collins; but now that she did, she found she couldn’t look away. He glanced at her and held her gaze. Far from the apologetic personality he’d showed at Liberty Bar, he now held her gaze with an unabashed intensity. Something heated between them; something that sent a delicious shiver through Layla’s body.
She was about to ask his name when he straightened and blinked suddenly. Reaching in the pocket of his jeans and setting his drink aside, he pulled out a buzzing smartphone and frowned at it. His gaze lifted to Layla and he gave that shy, cute-guy smile she’d first seen at the bar.
