I’ve been meaning to check this place out for a while, but between my insane work schedule and the time I devote to my daughter, it just kept slipping down the list—until now.
Before stepping inside, I give my cheeks a firm squeeze, trying to ease the tension in my face. Nine hours of smilingwill do that to you. Then again, frowning does its fair share of damage too.
Hmm? I wonder which I did more of today… smile or frown?
Oh, for heaven’s sake, Alex. It’s what you get paid to do.
With that thought put to rest, I open the door and slip inside.
Cool air greets me the second I walk in—crisp, clean—brushing against my skin like a quiet apology from the city. I let out a slow breath, already feeling the edges of my day begin to dull as I move toward the bar. The lighting is low and golden, spilling across polished wood and suede shadows. A kind of lazy jazz murmurs through the air—soft, slinky, humming like a loneliness that feels almost romantic.
My fingers find the top two buttons of my shirt. Pop. Pop. I ease into a leather chair that hugs my frame like it’s been waiting for me. The sigh that escapes me is involuntary. So is the stretch of my legs, the subtle roll of my neck, the weight sliding off my shoulders one vertebra at a time.
Yeah. This… this is better.
A yawn flirts with the back of my throat, and I let my gaze wander—half-lidded, unhurried—through the haze of dim lights and clinking glasses.
And then it stops.
On him.
He’s leaning against the bar like he owns it. Not just the bar—the room. Maybe the city. One leg crossed over the other. Arms folded across a chest that could bench press my self-control.
There’s something about him.
Still. Self-assured. Sexy.
Hair, black as sin, cropped tight on the sides, but left wild on top, curling just enough to hint at its natural wave. Skin a deep copper, smooth but shadowed by a day’s worth of stubble. Lips full, sculpted, like they were carved to provoke thoughts best left unsaid.
And those eyes?—
Jesus.
Dark. Piercing. Like he’s staring straight through my shirt, through my skin, through layers of control I’m not sure I want to keep anymore.
He’s staring.
At me.
Still.
Unblinking.
Unapologetic.
Giving me?—
Fucking hell!
I jolt, like someone just kicked the back of my seat. Look away. Anywhere but him. Ceiling. Coasters. My own goddamn shoes.
Reality check: I just thoroughly eye-fucked the hell out of that man.
Classy, Alex. Get it together.
Better yet—get a drink.
My fingers tremble slightly as I rake them through my already tousled hair, exhaustion seeping through every inch of me.Yes, that’s it. I’m totally fucking exhausted. I’d spent the entire day at a photo shoot for the swimwear edition ofStay Wet Magazine. The fact that I’m checking out another man is a definite sign of fatigue.
