Leaning casually against the bar, I swipe a napkin across the back of my neck, enjoying this moment of calm before our drinks arrive. Not a minute later, the bartender returns with two bottled waters, and I have mine uncapped and between my lips in a matter of seconds. Sighing in relief, I recap the bottle and place it down, licking my smiling lips.
“Are you drinking?”
I freeze.
My breath catches in my throat, almost choking me.
Sweat beads on my already slick forehead. My mouth goes dry—again.
Noah.
“I-I’m… dancing,” I stutter, swiping the sweat off my face, feeling goose bumps erupt across my arms in a chaotic rush. “Would you like to dance with me?”
I keep my back to him, knowing his pretty eyes are smiling.
We’ve played this game before.
Only—I shouldn’t be playing it right now.
But those eyes. God, I need to see them. Just one last time.
Against my better judgment, I turn around. And—yep, I was right. They’re smiling. And so fucking beautiful.
My gaze drops to his glossy lips, and I let myself linger there for a beat—just soaking them in—before drifting back to meet those impossibly blue eyes.
His lashes are thick with black mascara. A dusting of glitter catches the light as they flutter over his pretty eyes.Goddamn, he takes my breath away.
Sandy-blond hair falls loose and messy over his razor-tight fade. A fitted black shirt made of mesh and lace hangs seductively off one slender shoulder. Being in the fashion industry, I instantly recognize the designer as Étoile Noir.
A belly chain dangles from his tapered waist. It’s very feminine.
Very Noah.
He totally pulls the look off.
He moves closer to the bar—closer to me. My fingerstap, tap, tapon the slick surface as I watch him slide something under a napkin and push it my way. It stops when it touches my restless fingers.
“I’d love to dance with you, Alex.”
He’s changed the game.
I snap my eyes up from the napkin.
Tears?
For fuck’s sake. Why? They weren’t there before, but they are definitely there now. Gathering at the corners of his eyes like a pause in a parade. He stares straight through them, like he’s holding himself together by a thread, and I’m the one tugging it loose.
Calm on the outside, uncertainty just beneath.
I drag my eyes away from his tears and let them fall to his mouth, desperate to steady myself. To regain control.
Bad move.
He puckers his gold-glittered lips, and without thinking, I sweep my tongue over my own. Dry. Wanting.
And that’s when I know—I’m drowning.
“Figure it out?” he asks, turning to leave. It’s no longer a statement.
