I slow down as I approach, my hand digging into my bag before I let my eyes drift.
His eyes are the same color as bourbon. Not the cheap shit I’ve been throwing down my neck here, but the good stuff - warm and smoky and well-aged in a decent barrel.
Experienced.
Whoever he is, he’s seen things, this man. And the thought makes me hesitate, because I’m not here to pick up a pretty-eyed guy with a sad, puppy-dog gaze that might see too much.
He looks like he might need more than I’m willing to give.
The man stays still as I openly study him.
Tight, dark copper curls sit against his skull, the sort that look at their best when you’re running your fingers through them.
And he’s wearing fuckingbraces, tan braces that only highlight the muscle beneath that pristine white shirt.
With his golden-brown skin and those damn doe eyes…
Heat curls in my abdomen.
Trouble, I tell myself.Turn around, Liddell. Go home.
I should call Chess.
Chess is safe. Familiar ground, even if we’re both so fucking pissed at each other that we’d rip each other to shreds verbally before tumbling into bed and working out our aggression another way.
This man istrouble. I know it, purely because he’s a mixture of all of my favorite things.
And all of my favorite things are bad for me.
Full pink lips curl up at the edges. “You gonna stand there all night?”
There’s an invitation there. Even his voice is built for sin, sultry and rich andtempting,so damn tempting.
Beneath his gaze, it feels as though my veins are fizzing, coming back to life after months of feeling nothing but numb.
I offer him a polite, bland smile before walking straight past him and into the restroom.
Taking my time, I wash my hands thoroughly, drying them before I look up into the filthy mirror.
Under the cheap lights, the tiredness in my face is evident.
The deep, almost-blue circles beneath my eyes wash out my already pale skin, making my blue eyes appear more gray beneath the strip lighting. At least my hair is half-decent, the sleek blond bob shining and sharply cut to just below my chin.
I frown at my lips, at the chapped skin there before I turn away.
He has his head down, pointedly not looking my way as I walk back past him. I pause, mentally awarding him brownie points for not invading my space when I gave him every indication I wasn’t interested.
“Hey, bourbon.”
As those eyes lift to mine, I tilt my head toward my seat before nodding at his empty glass. “Feel free to join me, unless you’re heading out.”
I don’t wait for him before heading back across the bar and sliding into my seat. I murmur to the barman as the low sound of footsteps follow, and my lips tug up.
He settles onto the chair beside me, those strong arms leaning on the counter. “I really was heading out.”
“Somewhere to be?”
He pauses as the bartender puts a fresh, filled drink down in front of him.
