My entire body tenses.
Brooke. Holy shit.
She has a fucking name.
7
Brooke
My armfreezes as Steve releases my hand. It slowly falls to my side as I shift my body back toward…him.
Drew is here.
Of all the times I thought I'd be able to escape him, we somehow ended up in the exact same place.
And now… he knows my name.
Steve was a nice guy. He's traveling for work—the head honcho for some law firm—and is headed back home after tomorrow night's Flames game… to his wife of twenty years. He told me he was married just a couple minutes into our conversation. Apparently, I really don't know what a husband looks like. He didn't offer to buy me a drink—maybe that should have been my first sign—but he was good company for a while, talking about how real estate around here has really sky-rocketed. Future-Brooke thought that was good to know.
But thenheshowed up.
I don't know how long he's been here. The last I saw to my left before turning toward Steve was a massive man on his phone with a thick Russian accent. He was quiet, other than the occasional slurp ofhis soup, typing away on the device that looked hysterically too small for his enormous hand.
But when the bartender came over and spoke to the person behind me, the sound of his voice sent shivers down my spine. It was two words—thank you—but the way they crawled from the guy's throat felt familiar. Iknewthat voice even if I couldn't place it. It only took one fleeting moment before curiosity got the better of me. I turned slowly in an attempt to match the sound to a face, but my brain glitched. I smiled politely—reflexively—in a moment deserving of so much more.
It was only when I had spun halfway back toward Steve that it finally registered whose eyes I just locked with. Drew drank me in like a top-shelf liquor—slow, deliberate, savoring every drop—and I gawked at him like a deer in fucking headlights. He looks so different tonight than he did at the gala—relaxed, casual—but captivating all the same. Just like that night, his eyes pulled me in, my mind scrambling to read the depth hidden behind them.
Now, those eyes avoid me, his body pulled in tightly against the bar as he wipes at the condensation that's built up on his glass. When Steve called me by name, there was no missing Drew's reaction. His body language stiffened as if he was holding his breath. I took it as a sign that I must affect him the same way his presence here affects me. But now, I'm not so sure.
As he sits back in his seat, the vibration of potential in the air briefly settles into something different. Jealousy? Bitterness? Hurt? His shoulders slouch forward slightly, his eyes narrow on the rim of his glass as the muscles in his neck tighten and loosen as if his agitation falters so quickly you might miss it if you look away.
But I don't.
Rotating toward the counter, the rest of my wine calls me from the corner of my eye. As if she can read my thoughts, the bartender walks over and tops it off.
"Oh, uh—thank you," I say, giving her a closed-lip smile.
"Sure thing, hun." She nods and walks away, and when I peek back over at Drew, he's back to looking at me with a raised browand a confident aura.
"So…Brooke."
My cheeks warm as I grab hold of my drink like the life-line that it is. I take a large gulp before he huffs out a laugh. The sound, thankfully, slices through the intensity between us, and my shoulders relax slightly as I take another sip.Just for good measure.
He watches as I set my glass back on the bar. I take a deep breath, mentally shaking off how much he's thrown me and regaining my composure before holding out my palm. "So… I'm Brooke," I say, my voice almost lyrical.
Drew looks from my extended hand back to my face and makes me wait just a beat before he turns, staggering his legs with mine so his knee sits dangerously close to my inner thigh. He meets my hand with a firm grip, and shakes it slowly, the contact alone causing a heat so low I'm afraid he'll feel it through his joggers.
"Drew," he says simply, but the fervor in his eye contact makes it much more intense. The tension is palpable, my heart and breathing rates both picking up speed from just his first name, and I find myself shifting in my seat to cause some friction.God, Brooke. Keep it in your damn pants.
Realizing I've been holding his palm in mine for far too long, I drop it, inhaling deeply. Attempting to allow the smooth jazz in the background to regulate my nervous system, I occupy myself by spinning my wine glass on the marble bar.
The bartender, who is a saint for keeping judgement off her face as she saunters past me, places a plate in front of Drew. "Your steak, sir."
She spins the porcelain so the meat is closest to him, then drops a fork and knife on either side. "Can I get you anything else?"
Drew catches me staring at his meal. "Did you order yet?"
I shake my head quickly. "No, actually. I, uh… I hadn't gotten to it because I—."
