Maybe he should’ve just gone home, crawled under his weighted blanket, and started binge-watching a show where people’s relationships were even messier than his.
Or gotten a cat.
He took a sip, and the sugar and sharpness hit his tongue, a sweet relief cooling his throat.
A body pressed in close against Jamie’s left side, trapping him between an immovable force and the bar. He leaned sideways, but the stranger only nudged nearer, reaching over Jamie’s shoulder to get Ash’s attention.
“Hey, could I get a bourbon sour?” The stranger’s voice was smoke and amusement, flagging Ash down with a two-fingered salute.
“Honey, if you press any tighter against me, I’ll need a consent form.” Jamie nudged the stranger, only for his hands to make contact with solid muscles.
Sweet lord. He’d never touched anything so hard, not above the waist. He had to force his hands away. The guy’s cologne didn’t even begin to cover the man’s natural scent. It hit Jamie like a punch. Clean, fresh, edged with something earthy, inviting him to breathe deeper.
So he did, inhaling the scent deeply into lungs like he’d been deprived of oxygen.
Then he looked up and met a pair of bluish-gray eyes the color of antique glass bottles. His dark hair was a lazy mess framing sharp cheekbones, and he wore an old band shirt paired with tailored jeans and a black leather watch. Something about him said he knew exactly what reaction he was having on Jamie.
The stranger’s smile landed like a body check, all warmth and something sharp hiding just behind it. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to crowd you. Unless you wanna show me the dotted line.”
Jamie blinked. The statement was delivered dry, mellow as velvet. Zero arrogance, just a flicker of challenge under the words.
“I charge by the minute in personal space.” Jamie’s lips quirked. “As close as you are, I’ll have to charge double.”
Why on earth was Jamie flirting with him? He was at a bar to drown his misery, not shamelessly bat his eyelashes.
Laughter rumbled from the stranger’s throat, low and unguarded. “Damn. You’re a savage. I’ll keep my hands where you can see them. Promise.”
For the first time all night, Jamie’s mouth almost twitched into a smile.
The guy slid onto the newly vacated stool beside Jamie, as if he’d never doubted his welcome. He still kept his distance, as if making his point. “I’m Sloane, by the way.” He extended a hand.
Jamie wasn’t looking for company. Especially not from anyone with a pulse, a jawline, and a functioning sense of humor. Yet somehow, Sloane made it easy. He waited Jamie out, not overbearing, just steady, like a set of headlights guiding you down a back road.
Ash must’ve made his mojito with double the alcohol because Jamie never had poetic thoughts about a guy. Not the guys he’d dated.
“Jamie.” They shook. Sloane’s grip was firm, his skin warm, making Jamie want to hold it for a bit longer.
Up close, Sloane’s features landed somewhere between hot and dangerous—square jaw, aquiline nose, and eyes that held too many secrets. When he smiled, a shallow dimple appeared on his left cheek. If Jamie were drunk, he might’ve swooned.
“You’ve got strong ‘mysterious stranger at midnight’ vibes,” Jamie teased, although it was true. There was just something about the guy that was both fascinating and frightening.
Tilting the glass of whiskey under his chin, Sloane seemed to consider his observation. “Depends on who’s asking. If you’re an undercover cop, I have no clue where the bodies are buried. If you’re a novelist looking for inspiration, I’ll let you dig deeper.” Sloane leaned in closer, his voice lowering. “But if you’re someone who wants to get to know me better, we can negotiate the terms.”
A shiver raced through Jamie before he could stop his reaction. Sloane smirked, and somehow, it felt like the beginning of a very dangerous game, leaving Jamie wondering if he should run or stay.
Somewhere behind Sloane, someone cheered, and glasses clinked. A woman at the end of the bar cackled as if she’d just heard the best joke of her life. All of it faded to a hum as Jamie became hyper-aware of the man next to him.
With a slight tilt of his head, Sloane scented the air. Jamie had no idea why, because he hadn’t used body spray tonight. Then he looked down at Jamie with a strange glint in his eyes.
I am not drunk enough for this.
Jamie raised his arm to get Ash’s attention, but quickly yanked it down, cupping his upper arm with his hand. The way sharp pain pulsed through it he feared William had done a lot more damage than bruising.
“You all right?” Sloane’s gaze flicked to Jamie’s hand, concern knitting his brows.
“Pinched a nerve.” Jamie forced a smile. “Happens when I use the espresso machine at work. You ever operate one of those? Brutal.”
He didn’t work with an espresso machine and had no idea why he’d used that excuse. He worked at a pet store, and the only thing resembling a coffee machine was the battered one in the storage room that doubled as a break room.
