The door swings shut behind her, and my eyes readjust to the room. A woman in a white button-up blouse, flats, and dark slacks stands with her shoulders back and a solemn expression.
Scratch that. Not just a woman. A goddamn knockout.
She’s captivated me, and she hasn’t even noticed me yet. Her eyes are as blue as the endless sky, and her hair is as black as my damned soul. I don’t get attached to women. But I can easily see myself becoming obsessed with this one.
Her gaze finds me easily, and I’m pulled into her shattered sapphire eyes. I now know why they say that the eyes are a window to the soul. I see her passion, her determination, and her fortitude. This little vixen is the definition of strength wrapped in beauty.
I finally realize that she’s making the same face I am. She has to be some kind of curse from the devil himself. It’s like he reached into my head, created the perfect woman, and sent her here to punish me.
She blinks rapidly, breaking our connection, like she didn’t mean to give me that glimpse inside her soul.
Too late, Sunshine.
CHAPTER THREE
RAVEN
Where the hell is this place?
I’m starting to think Kat is a lying jerk. For the last twenty minutes, I’ve been driving up and down this road on the skirts of town, looking for any sign of life. But all I see is dead grass, trees, more grass, and more trees. Nothing else. Not even a telephone pole!
This is how I die. Months from now, they’ll find my body, and the locals will have a good laugh at my expense. All because I couldn’t find a simple dive bar.
I’ll give it one more trip down the road, then I’m calling it quits.
Slowing down to twenty miles an hour, well under the speed limit, I give it my best shot.
Grass. Grass. Tree. Tree. More grass. Another tree. Tire tracks.
Slamming on the brakes, my body jerks forward. My eyes survey the imprints closely. Those are definitely tire tracks, and I think that’s a sign hidden behind some foliage.
Taking a chance on this sketchy dirt road, I make the sharp turn. After being jolted around my seat on what is the bumpiest ride of my life, I pull up to a clearing.
No.
A gravel parking lot.
I park my car a good twenty yards or so from the only other car in the lot and take in the front. It’s a lone standing building with a wooden porch and a neon sign that says, “Bar & Billiards.” There are a couple of blacked-out windows, and next to the door is another sign with the bar’s name.
The Wandering Raven.
I’ll forgive Kat for not giving me better directions, but she’s back to being a jerk for not giving me a heads up on the name of this place. I’m not sure if Kat thought it would be funny or what. But Raven working at The Wandering Raven seems a little too cliché for my taste. However, beggars can’t be choosers.
A job is a job. If I don’t have to take off my clothes, then I’m good. No shame to those who choose to. Live your life. But that’s not my choice, and I shouldn’t be forced into it ever again.
I’m sure to some, the place looks unfriendly, but I’ve learned that the exterior doesn’t usually reflect what’s on the inside.
Grabbing my small purse and resume, I exit my car and stroll right through the entrance. It takes my eyes a moment or two to adjust to the low lighting. Looking around, I’m not surprised to find that The Wandering Raven is indeed a dive bar. There are some booths along the front wall, the bar is off to the left, and the pool tables and dart boards are at the back. There’s a hall past the pool tables, and some tall tables are scattered here and there. The place has probably seen better days, but at least it’s not falling apart.
There’s an older man sitting at the bar with his focus fixed on the drink in front of him. During my time at Euphoria in New York, I came across many men like him. They’re a bitjaded from what life has thrown at them, and they just come for the company. They could have cared less whether or not I was clothed. They only wanted someone to talk to. Those customers were my favorite, and they always tipped the best.
The bartender stands in front of the patron on the other side of the bar with a towel on his shoulder and a shocked look on his face. He’s much taller and wider than me. His shoulders are defined and broad. His white shirt doesn’t look to be a muscle tee, but it shows off his muscles, nonetheless. The damage from the sun on his sand-colored skin makes him look older than my twenty-five years, but the light in his amber eyes echoes a playfulness. His hair is shorter on the sides and longer on the top. It sits in a way that makes me want to run my fingers through his cool brown waves.
But it’s his amber brown eyes that have me feeling like a deer caught in the headlights. He pierces me with an enchanting fire, and I can see his desire—his lust. But more than that, I feel the scars that have marked his soul. I’ve never had a man look at me like this.
I don’t believe in love at first sight. That’s for fairytales, and my life has been anything but fantastical. It’s more like the Brothers Grimm type of story.
However, I do believe in compatibility, and I get the feeling this man could take me for a wild ride.
