I tear my eyes from him so I can look at the bartender. "You could call him. Or you could just believe me because I'm telling the truth."
The bartender scrutinizes me, and it takes all I have not to flip him the middle finger. This is ridiculous. Then he grabs a glass and starts making my drink. When he sets it down on the beverage napkin in front of me, he has an air about him, like he's done me a big favor and expects me to feel grateful.
I'd rather swing my foot up at the apex of his thighs.
I raise my glass in the air, catching Sawyer's gaze, and nod at him. He responds with a lift of his wine, a chin dip of his own. And there's a little something extra, an intensity in his eyes, a bob of his Adam's apple on his clean-shaven throat. I swallow and break our gaze, in time to see the bartender give Marlowe her drink without any grief.
She places an order for fries, then turns back to me wearing an apologetic look. "I'm sorry," she mouths.
"You're the mayor's daughter," I gripe. "Of all people he should be carding and not believing, it's you."
She winds an arm around mine. "Sorry about your luck. You're just too famous for your own good."
"Infamous, you mean." I brush the scowl off my face. "How's Brix?" I ask, to change the subject. Brixton is the last name of a guy we grew up with. He goes by Brix, and he and Marlowe began seeing each other a few months ago.
She shrugs. "He's okay, I suppose."
"Don't sound so excited."
She smiles around her straw. "He's boring. And I don't want to date a guy from town."
"That means you'll have to actually move out of town in order to accomplish that," I point out, reaching over the bar and snagging a slice of lime from a container of cut fruit.
Marlowe blows out a noisy breath. "I'm aware."
Our fries arrive and we keep chatting, moving from her dad's plans for reelection to her sister’s new baby. I keep my attention on Marlowe, which is a job in itself because all I want to do is peek over at Sawyer. I have no idea if he's still there, because the people between us are big, burly guys, but I haven't seen him stand up to leave, so I'm guessing that means he's there.
Marlowe yawns hugely and waves her hand. "Sorry," she apologizes, yawning again as she says the word. "I just hit a wall." She grabs the folded check off the bar. "Let me get this. You can get next time."
She pays, and I pointedly ignore the bartender when he tries to make eye contact with me. I don’t know what he wants, but I do know I’m not interested.
We push back from the bar, and I get the chance to look over for Sawyer. His seat is empty. Everything has been cleared from his place. Disappointment fills me, as if I’ve lost something.
I'm steps away from the exit when a hand wraps around my elbow, pulling me back gently. I look down at the hand, the long, masculine fingers curled around me, skin to skin. My flesh prickles, heat rushing in where he touches me.
My gaze lifts, his gray eyes like a magnet. We’re closer than we’ve ever been. Goose bumps ripple over me, head to toe. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but this? It'ssomething.
"Are you leaving?" His voice is low, urgent.
"It would appear so,” I say softly, my tongue darting out to moisten my lips.
"Jess-ie?" Marlowe's voice lifts on the second syllable. "You coming?"
I look at my best friend, her eyebrows drawn in confused curiosity.
"Stay." The quiet word slides from Sawyer, draping over me.
"I'm going to stick around here," I answer her. She gives Sawyer a long once-over, then nods slowly. "I'll talk to you later."
Sawyer steps back, his hand falls away, and he motions back toward the bar.
I was right when I thought of him as a magnet, but that's not all he is. There's something in him, like a vein running through sinew, that reminds me of a predator.
This attraction feels primal. Raw.
This is the first time I've ever found myself wanting to be prey.
I leadus over to a booth, purposefully choosing the one out of eyesight of the bartender. He clearly knows who I am, and I'd rather not be gossiped about if I can help it.
