God, I need to get a grip… Or go home. Even if I know no one is there, waiting for me to show up. Other than maybe Daniel, though he’ll just lurk in the shadows, staying too far away for me to cleanly kill.
I drop my phone into my bag and sip my drink. It’s disgusting, but it takes the edge off.
Why did I order…
What even is this?
“Is this seat taken?” A man asks, hovering on my left side.
I feel his presence without turning to face him, the weight of his gaze lingering on my profile. His voice is deep and calm. I imagine this is what velvet and smoke sound like.
“No,” I say, cutting my eyes in his direction before giving him some of my attention. “But I bite.”
Allof my attention.
“Will definitely bite,” I amend, fighting a smirk.
Whoever he is… He’s exactly what I need right now.
There’s something about a muscular man in a black tee that melts my mind and my panties. I forget thatnois a full sentence, not that I would tell him no.
He’s all clean-shaven jawline, sharper than broken glass, and pale blue eyes, a storm on mute swirling in his irises. And tall, dressed in dark jeans… If he had a trench coat, he’d look like he belonged in a noir film, the kind of guy who leans in from the shadows to ask if you want to disappear with him.
A ghost of a smile creeps across his perfect lips. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t bite.”
“We wouldn’t want you to be disappointed,” I murmur into my drink as he sits on the stool beside me.
“Silas,” he says, humor in his tone. No last name. He’s just a mysterious man settling into the kind of silence that invites confession.
But I haven’t racked up enough sins recently, so it’ll be vague half-truths and white lies from me.
“Eris,” I return, and something flickers in his expression, though it’s gone before I can decide how to interpret it.
“You’re not from around here,” he inquires, though it’s not really a question.
His eyes scan the bar before coming back to rest on my face. Most men in places like this look at me as a possibility, a conquest to win. But Silas doesn’t. He studies me as if I’m a riddle he wants to solve.
“Born and raised,” I reply with a small grin. “The Bay doesn’t let go of people easily. She’s possessive.”
He shakes his head. “Doesn’t strike me as the kind of place people stay by choice.”
“That’s because most people are scared of the choice and the consequences.” I widen my eyes conspiratorially. “And most transplants don’t stay long enough to figure out why.”
“And you’re not?”
“I wouldn’t still be alive if I was.”
That earns me his full attention. He leans his forearms on the bar top and turns his head to watch me openly. There’s a danger lurking in his pale eyes that I recognize; it’s the quiet kind of focused, a predator on the prowl.
“So what keeps you?” he inquires, curiosity shining in his gaze as he sips a whiskey neat.
“The view.”
He arches a brow. “You mean the ocean?”
“No.” I twirl the straw in my watered-down drink. “I mean watching people pretend it’s the ocean that keeps them here.”
He exhales softly, as if he’s trying to laugh but can’t quite make the full effort. “You don’t do small talk, do you?”
