I immediately recognise him.
His muscular arms are inked with tattoos, covering his golden skin. His nails are painted black, and he wears two large silver rings on his index and middle fingers. A charcoal T-shirtreading “Comfortably uncomfortable” stretches across his broad chest.
Anna winces, looking at me. “Is that?—”
“Tom.”
“Then where’s …” Anna’s voice trails off as three other men step onto the stage. My attention focuses on a tall, blond man in a leather jacket, who is casually slinging a guitar strap over his shoulder and retrieving a pick from his front pocket. I take him in as he tunes his guitar. I watch his biceps flex, how the bright lights accentuate his high cheekbones and sharp jaw, dusted in stubble. He’s wearing dark jeans and his usual black combat boots. Jesus Christ, he looksgood. His large hands grasp the neck of the guitar as he begins picking the strings.
“James,” I whisper before taking a large pull from my cocktail. At that moment, as if he heard me, James lifts his eyes, immediately finding me, and pauses his movements. I freeze. His brows furrow before he quickly looks away, dragging a hand over his stubble.
“Are you okay?” Gemma questions, placing her hand over mine.
“Yeah … Yeah, I’m fine.” I wave her off, feigning indifference.
Fine.A simple but damaging word. The use of which completely contradicts its meaning.
But inside, my heart catapults into my throat. Why didn’t he wave?
Why did he look away so quickly?
I’m trying to compose myself, I rub my forehead and down the rest of my cocktail. I feel panicky seeing him here after months of no contact. The thought of running into him didn’t even cross my mind. Well, that’s not entirely true—I still think about James.
It’s hard not to.
But I didn’t expect to run into him tonight.
“We’re Atlas Veil! I’m Tom, holding down the bass we’ve got James, my man Oliver’s tearing it up on the drums, and Will’s shredding on guitar! Hopefully you’ll recognise some of these songs.”
The room is alive with excitement as the first few chords float through the air, and my head snaps in James’s direction. I watch as he immerses himself in the song, his fingers gliding over the strings, eyes closed, tapping his foot to the beat.
“We can go if you aren’t comfortable,” Anna says.
“It’s okay, really. Plus, I love this song.” I smile, and it seems to put them at ease.
We settle into light-hearted conversation as the band plays their set and Gemma fetches another round of espresso martinis. Anna was right; she is loving them.
As the evening progresses, I forget the brooding man on-stage and focus on my girls. After our second martini, we switch to water and head to the dance floor.
I smile and throw my hands in the air, singing along to the music as a soft sheen of sweat coats my body. Without thought, I glance towards the stage and instantly lock eyes with James. He almost looks … angry?
I snap out of my trance as two hands land on my hips, and a firm chest presses against my back. I whirl around and find myself face-to-face with a tall, dark, and handsome stranger, whose friend seems quite taken with Gemma. Glancing to my left, I catch Anna waving her ring finger in another guy’s face. Poor bloke, he doesn’t stand a chance.
Leaning in, the stranger says, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you ladies looked like you were having so much fun, we had to join in.”
I swivel my head to find James still staring at me, his nostrils flared and jaw tense, still not missing a single note as he watchesthis exchange. Looking back at the stranger, I shout over the loud music, “We’re having a girls’ night.”
He raises his eyebrows and says, “Your mate over there looks rather happy making a new friend.” I flick my gaze to assess Gemma and his friend. He’s right; she’s already dancing, giggling, and batting her lashes at her new companion.
“Yes, well, Gemma’s single,” I clip.
“And you are not?”
I’m not prepared for this. I can’t flirt or make small talk. Honestly, I’m terrible at it. Before Lucas, the last man who attempted to flirt with me was mortified when my “small talk” included asking for his star sign and deepest mother wound.
Surface-level conversations are boring. Knowing someone’s job or where they went to university doesn’t define who they are. It doesn’t reveal why they think the way they do, or what genuinely makes them happy.
I crave deeper connections and conversations that uncover what drives a person, their passions, fears, and the moments that shaped them. I want to understand what brings them joy and what keeps them up at night.
