Sloane didn’t look convinced. “I’m more of a French press guy. Less hazardous to my limbs.”
“I never could figure out how to work those things,” Jamie confessed, hoping to steer Sloane’s attention away from his arm. William was the last person he wanted to think about, let alone discuss. He could still see those icy-blue eyes and the monster behind them.
When Ash sauntered his way, Jamie ordered another mojito, desperate to forget the violence and William’s threat. That had been the first time William had laid a hand on him, but Jamie’s gut told him it wouldn’t be the last. Not when William had acted like Jamie ending things was merely a suggestion. He was the biggest danger in Jamie’s life, and Jamie couldn’t figure out how to get William to leave him alone. Chad had been an emotional drain, but he’d never made a threat or refused to break up.
Sloane leaned a little closer, pitching his voice soft and low by Jamie’s ear. “Not gonna lie, kitten. I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better.”
All thoughts of William vanished as electricity shot straight to Jamie’s cock. For a dizzying second, he’d almost forgotten why that was a problem.
When Sloane’s lips pulled back, the smile that followed carried just enough wickedness to leave its fingerprints on Jamie’s soul.
Holy. Shit.
Jamie swallowed roughly, the bar forgotten as he stared into Sloane’s bluish-gray eyes. What was it about the guy that drew him in so strongly, that made Sloane’s gaze feel almost hypnotic?
With a smile, Sloane sipped his drink, one eyebrow cocked in silent invitation. The ball was in Jamie's court now. The silence between them stretched just long enough to be interesting rather than awkward.
“Do you need validation?” Jamie tapped his fingers against his glass. “My dating history’s basically a masterclass in men with validation issues, so let me know up front if you’re the type who needs a gold star sticker every time you make someone blush.”
That might’ve sounded harsh to most, but after dealing with one loser after another, Jamie was over emotionally draining assholes. Sloane was the hottest guy who’d ever flirted with him, but that didn’t mean Sloane was stable. Most gorgeous men were crazy. That was what Jamie had heard, and he wasn’t in a rush to find out if it was true. He’d rather date his hand than deal with another nutjob.
Sloane’s gaze never wavered. “Validation’s for people who don’t know what they bring to the table. I built the damn table.”
Jamie blinked twice, mojito halfway to his lips. His brain cells were having an emergency meeting, and not a single one showed up with notes.
The confidence in Sloane’s voice… That did things to Jamie’s pulse.
Things he wasn’t ready to psychoanalyze, like why that level of cockiness made his thighs clench. Not when he was two mojitos in and his mind was flashing, Error 404: Brain not found.
Sloane brushed Jamie’s arm, careful not to touch where it hurt. “Did I answer your question to your satisfaction?”
This man definitely wasn’t a Chad or William. Not with that level of commanding presence. The way his eyes traced Jamie’s face felt as if Sloane was reading his mind.
Grabbing his glass, Jamie gulped down half his mojito in one go, eyeing Sloane over the rim. Figures. The universe finally sends me a hot guy who doesn’t need a therapy session every five minutes, and I’m short-circuiting like I’ve been asked to defuse a bomb with dental floss. He shot Sloane a sidelong glance. “My dating history didn’t prepare me for someone with actual self-esteem. It’s honestly rude of you.”
Sloane placed a hand over his heart with theatrical flair. “My sincerest apologies, kitten. How dare I have actual self-esteem while flirting with the most gorgeous man in the bar?” His grin widened lazily, a flicker of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Next time I’ll lead with my childhood trauma and a PowerPoint about my trust issues.”
Jamie found himself fighting a smile despite feeling strangely at ease with this ridiculous man.
Gradually, his body relaxed the way it did after surviving a hostage negotiation. Sloane had this effect, like he could soak up all the stress and return it repackaged as something lighter. Jamie kept leaning in, laughing at the guy’s stories about weird bar bathrooms and the proper etiquette for drinking sake wine with strangers.
The edges of Sloane’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. Nothing predatory about it. The kind of look that would make most people instantly start confessing hidden sins or ask him to help them move a couch. Jamie wasn’t sure how much alcohol it took to trick his brain into feeling safe after the night he’d had, but Sloane had gotten him close.
Another mojito appeared in front of him, glass sweating condensation all over his napkin. He tipped back half of it in one swallow, and the last shreds of tension loosened enough that he didn’t notice his body pitching sideways on the stool until his head practically landed on Sloane’s shoulder.
He caught himself just in time, but his hand found Sloane’s knee instead. His jeans felt like they’d been washed three thousand times, soft and worn-in. Jamie’s laugh came out loud, way too loud for the moment, but he didn’t have the energy to care anymore.
Sloane just glanced down, then back up, eyes smiling like Jamie had handed him a present. The guy’s laughter was softer, but he didn’t let Jamie go. The sound in the bar faded into background static, voices blending and swirling away from the island he and Sloane had made at this end of the bar.
Sloane’s smile never faded. He watched Jamie, eyes tracking every sharp turn in his mood, every twitch of his mouth. Jamie felt seen, and it freaked him out more than he wanted to admit.
At some point, Sloane’s hand found Jamie’s arm again. This time, he just anchored Jamie with the lightest possible grip, thumb resting on the inside of his elbow, as though Sloane had already mapped out which moves would send Jamie running and which ones would keep him still.
“You wanna exchange numbers?” Jamie asked as his mind screamed that the alcohol was making him reckless. He swatted that voice away. No nagging tonight. Plus, he couldn’t even remember why he shouldn’t be doing this.
Taking Jamie’s phone, Sloane thumbed in his digits and handed it back. “Text me so I have yours.”
Jamie shot off a text. If I wake up in a tub of ice missing my kidneys, I’ll call you first.
