I felt jolted awake, and for the first time in eight months, I wasn’t thinking about Erik or the breakup. I wasn’t thinking about how stuck I felt.
Nah, I was thinking about how incredible it would feel to touch that fine specimen. Just his arm or his chest…just to see if he was carved from stone. If it weren’t for Kelsey seeing him too, I would have thought he was a figment of my writer’s imagination. He was too perfect not to be.
I took the first shot, a tasty combo of Grand Marnier, tequila, and Tia Maria. For the last six years, it’d been my go-to shot. Risking another glance, I turned my head slightly, trying to be discreet.
Our eyes collided, and I smiled just a little. His responding grin sent tingles down my spine. Kelsey was on to something—flirting with an attractive stranger could very well make me feel good.
“Should I go talk to him?” I asked her, taking the second shot while I waited for her answer.
“Not yet,” she responded. “Keep doing the glancing-flirty thing.”
So I did. We stayed on our stools, listening to the band play, and I traded flirty glances with Thor while I sipped a beer and let my imagination run wild.
There was no harm in a little fantasizing, and I couldn’t help but wonder how the perfect stranger across the bar was in bed. I was barely able to handle the intensity behind his gaze without melting off my stool, and if he kissed as well as he stared—there was no way I’d be able to resist bringing him home if I got the chance. I’d be certifiable not to.
He was ideal—totally different from Erik in every single way, which would have been enough. But it was the confidence he exuded that caught my attention. He knew he had me.
“I read somewhere that beards are dirtier than toilet seats,” Kelsey remarked thoughtfully. I swiveled to scowl at her.
“Ew, that’s so not true. And I don’t care if it is. I’d lick every toilet seat in this bar for a chance with him.”
“Okay,thatwas disgusting.” She laughed. “Sometimes, I can’t believe we’re related.”
“You and me both, sister,” I murmured, rolling my eyes a little. Kelsey was tall and slender, with dark blonde hair and blue eyes. I was shorter and curvier and darker, and in a lot of ways, her polar opposite. But despite our differences, she’d been there for me through thick and thin.
Regardless of her tactics.
“Oh, look, he’s leaving,” Kelsey said, and I turned in time to see Thor’s glorious back disappearing out the patio door. Noting the disappointment on my face, my sister jumped up. “Come on.”
“What are you doing?” I hissed, having no choice but to follow her as she headed for the patio after him.
2
Cliché
Alaric
I’ve seen this cliché somewhere before.
Pretty girl walks into a bar. Guy notices pretty girl, pretty girl notices guy. They take turns staring at one another, sometimes catching each other’s eyes. He thinks about spreading her out on his mattress and lapping her up like ice cream, she’s probably thinking something similar.
But I’ve seen how it ends, too.
A positive sign on a pregnancy test, two years of trying to make it work, and then she leaves anyway—taking the kid, too. Visits every other weekend and one week in December, limited bursts of time that I had to fight for. The knowledge that some other man is there to tuck my daughter in at night, while I lay in my empty house feeling helpless.
When Cheryl decided to move in with her boyfriend a year after we separated, I didn’t get a say in the matter, even though it meant she would be taking our daughter three hours south to Cobourg to live with him.
I tried for a year, but I hated being so far away from Sawyer. I didn’t like spending half of our limited time together driving from her mom’s place to mine and back again. So, I sold my business, sold my house, and left everything behind, thinking that maybe Cheryl would let me see her more. I had this naïve notion that despite the way things ended between us, we could set it aside to raise Sawyer.
I got the keys to my new place two weeks ago, and so far, Cheryl hadn’t budged on allowing me more time with my kid.
Bringing my almost-empty beer to my lips, I took a sip, letting my gaze drift back to the woman across the bar. Even if this bar setup was a tired cliché, I saw the beauty in that instantaneous mutual attraction, the draw two people inheritably felt for one another. Sometimes, it lasted just a minute, a night. Other times, it led to more. I was only interested in one night, and this girl—this stunning girl with piercing eyes the colour of polished shards of metal, a killer rack, and a blinding smile—she rattled me enough to shake me from my ruminating.
Pulling my gaze away from her, I turned my head to the stage, watching Jamie Wilkinson crooning into the microphone. Jamie had been the real estate agent that I’d reached out to when I was looking for a home in Northumberland County. He was a Port Hope native and knew the area well. He found a gem of a house in the country, eighteen minutes away from downtown —close enough that the highway was a hop, skip, and a jump away, but far away enough from people that it appealed to my need of avoiding them.
In addition to being one of the best real estate agents in the area, Jamie was the lead singer and guitarist in a country folk band, and he invited me to his show. I didn’t have anything better to do on my Sawyer-free weekend, and I didn’t mind Jamie’s company, so I agreed to go.
Worst-case scenario—I’d get a change of scenery. Best-case scenario—I’d burn off some steam before I started my new job on Monday.
