The stool doesn’t seem tall enough to fit Isaac, but he manages, folding his long legs awkwardly beneath the bartop.
“How tall are you?” I blurtout.
“Six-three. How tall areyou?”
“Five-seven.”
He nods and grabs the neck of his beer with the same two fingers he used when he first approached my table. “Can we have that drinknow?”
I tap the bottom of my bottle against his, take a small sip, and watch Isaac take a long pull. I like the way he holds his bottle. Just those two fingers wrapped around the neck and a thumbunderneath.
Leaning a forearm on the bar top, Isaac pins me with his gaze. “So, Aubrey who’s five-seven and doesn’t accept open beverages from men she doesn’t know, what were you doing trying to sneak out of here soearly?”
“I have a hot date.” I toss my hair over my shoulder and look at my wrist, despite the fact I’m not wearing a watch. “And now I’mlate.”
Isaac’s gaze moves around my face and, slowly, reaches my eyes. He grows intense, and when that happens, his lips move, the tiny muscles around themtwitching.
“Finder’s keepers.” The words are languid, sliding from his lips likecaramel.
I take a deep breath and force myself to look away, even though so much of me wants to let him sweet talk me. My heart and my ego could use the attention, but I knowbetter.
“What did hedo?”
His words make me turn back to him. I give him a side-eye and gulp my beer. “What makes you think somebody did something tome?”
“You’re defensive and hesitant. In my experience, that usually means a woman’s beenhurt.”
I glance at the door, just ten feet away. How easy it would be to escape. Part of me wants to run for the hills. But the other part wants to know what it would feel like to tell a total stranger the whole uglytruth.
“Excuse me?” I stop the bartender as he’s passing by. “Two shots of Jack,please.”
Isaac whistles, low and disbelieving. “Thatbad?”
“Ugly truth?” Iask.
“The whole thing.” He says. “Don’t leave anythingout.”
He asked for it. By the time I finish my story, Isaac will be sprinting away from me, just like Owen did. But maybe he’ll turn around as he’s running and yell the reason back to me. Maybe I’ll finallyunderstand.
The bartender sets the tiny glasses in front of us. I grimace as the shot burns my insides on the waydown.
Isaac pushes his glass to the back of the bar top and signals for another. “Hit me with it.” He says to me. “Let me in. Tell me your big, bad, uglytruth.”
So I do. I tell a perfect stranger every detail. And it feels sogood.
He doesn’t run. He doesn’t say something trite. He doesn’t even say anything to make me feel better. All he says when I’m finished is, “That really fuckingsucks.”
And that’s when I decide I likeIsaac.
“You’re the third person I’ve told that story to.” Britt and Owen are the other two, but does Owen even count? “Can you believe that?” My brain feels fuzzy. We stopped twice during my long story for shots. “Let’s take a picture to commemorate the night I told a stranger my darkest, dirtiest secret.” Digging in my purse for my phone, I find it and present it with a sillyflourish.
Isaac waves his hands in front of him while I swipe open the camera. “Pictures steal a piece of your soul.” He protests. “I don’t believe inpictures.”
I swivel so my back is to Isaac and snap oneanyhow.
“I just stole a piece of your soul.” I do a goofy celebratory dance with just my upperhalf.
He laughs and shakes his head, then returns his eyes to my face.Those eyes… So intense, so dark.Their depth seems to goforever.
