Something flickers in his expression—understanding, maybe—but it’s there and gone too quickly for me to interpret.
“Good,” he says quietly. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”
The tension between us snaps tight as a bowstring as we stare at each other until the bartender interrupts us, depositing fresh drinks. It should feel uncomfortable to exchange such intensity with a stranger, but his eyes remind me of a dense forest on an overcast day, and I want to get lost as I wander.
He reaches out, brushing his thumb across my wrist where my pulse thunders. “You’re still shaking.”
“Not from fear, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I explain, holding his gaze. “You kind of just stole my kill. Took the wind right out of my sails.”
That makes him laugh, a hoarse sound like he hasn’t done it in far too long. “Fair enough.”
For a heartbeat, neither of us speaks, but it’s not an awkward silence or even two people sizing each other up. We’re just back to an intensity so strong the people and music in the bar fade into a blur of mixed color and white noise.
“I’ve seen you here before,” he says. “A few weeks ago.”
“I know.”
His brow lifts. “You do?”
“You were watching me then, too,” I point out.
“You didn’t stay long,” he notes with wry amusement.
So, he doesn’t deny it. Interesting… I still find myself thinking about that intense moment of eye contact.
“You didn’t give me a reason to,” I divulge, taking a sip of my drink.
“Would you stay if I asked now?”
I should say no.
Why don’t I ever say no?
It’s the way he’s looking at me, though… Like me questioning myself is already answer enough.
“Maybe,” I reply noncommittally, but I’m sure my smile gives me away. “Depends on how you ask.”
He leans closer, his breath brushing my ear. “Then let me try again.”
His hand finds the small of my back, guiding me toward the dance floor as the bass throbs beneath our feet, leading us to the climax of the night.
The world narrows to sound and heat and motion.
All the intricacies and complications in my life fade to a dull buzz in the back of my mind, leaving me focused on a single thought…
Him.
I don’t know what it is about him.
Maybe the way he watches me from across the bar, as if I’m the only thing worth looking at. Like the rest of the room doesn’t exist. Like the rest of the bar could burn, and he wouldn’t blink, because nothing matters except the space between his gaze and mine.
He doesn’t ask for my number or feed me a bullshit line. His flirting is natural, not intended to impress. He simply waits until I’ve finished my drink and deposits the glass on an empty table…
Then he grabs my hand and murmurs, “Come with me.”
There’s no pressure, even though it’s not a question.
It’s just gravity.
