They'd be wrong.
I'd trade a pretty face for feeling good any fucking day of the week.
I flirted with a guy when I first got here. Jason. He's cute, and we bonded over medical procedural dramas on TV, which felt like a win, like maybe I could find a guy who's interested in hanging out doing a whole lot of nothing and only occasionally having sex because my body couldn't handle more than that, but Amy shoved him away so we could chat about her long-time boyfriend. But Jason's still eyeing me from across the room, and I think, maybe this night won't be such a bust.
I can tell he's trying to wrap up his conversation so he can come back, so I mentally prepare myself, giving him what I hope is a flirtatious wave. He laughs, and I resist the urge to slap my forehead. But he's still watching me, so I haven't scared him off yet. I can totally do this. I'll have a date by the end of the night. And if it lasts longer than one night, well, hopefully he's just as lazy and sleepy as I am. We'll get along great. We'll order takeout and he'll get a vasectomy, and go to the store and buy me ice when we have a party in our shared apartment. Well, we probably won't have a party. But he'd definitely buy me ice if I asked.
Our future unfolds while I daydream. He can't take his eyes off me, and it's intoxicating. A blush blooms on my cheeks, and it's already hot in here, so I reach up and pull my hair off my neck, when something catches my eye and I turn. Jason's eyesfollow mine. A surge of adrenaline makes my heart race, and something tugs in my gut.
A dark figure inches through the crowd, a head above the rest. Even with the loud music, things seem to dim around him.
This party is full of distractions. Almost everyone aside from me is drunk, or on their way to be. There's a disco ball, colored lights, hip hop with bass so loud it shakes the walls, beautiful people with happy smiling faces, celebrating the new year, a fresh start. There's lots of skin on display, short skirts and cleavage, and guys with party hats, and everyone's acting wild and silly, but even with all the distractions, they all stop and take a moment to stare.
He doesn't belong here.
I don't know why that's my first thought, but it's true. Wearing a leather jacket and black utility pants, with a scowl on his face, the man looks like he's on his way to fight in an underground ring, not party like the rest of us. He doesn't blend in at all.
I don't think he's even trying to.
He ignores everyone, his gaze fixed ahead as he weaves through the dense crowd, drawing curious stares. Conversations carry on, but every eye in the room follows him.
But he's looking atme.
He takes up space. He's tall, over six feet. And broad. His head is shaved, which only highlights the harsh structure of his face. Sharp lines, diamond-shaped, cutting jaw. A scar runs through his left brow, cutting into his cheek. It fits him, which is a ridiculous thing to think about someone you don't know. Tattoos crawl up from beneath his collar, painting his neck.
He's just so… manly. Masculine incarnate, the kind of guy others might look at and question their own virility.
He's the sexiest man I've ever seen in real life. And he stalks toward me. My body heats, heart galloping in my chest.He moves slowly through the crowd that parts for him without having to ask. I try to take a step away, but my back hits the counter.
"Who the fuck isthat? Mona, do you know him?"
I shake my head without looking at Amy. I'm afraid to take my eyes off him. That if I look away, he'll disappear. Or worse, that he'll still be there. Stalking toward me.
He keeps walking. Closer and closer, and even at a foot away he doesn't stop. I have to lean back, and then he'sthere, invading my personal space. He traps me against the counter, hands pressing on either side of me, his huge form overshadowing my much smaller one. Heat radiates off him, his massive, firm chest a brick wall.
Electricity shoots like fireworks across my sensitive skin at his invasion, firing everywhere his body touches mine. Then he leans down and smells me. I can feel his breath on my neck. It tickles, goosebumps rising along my bare skin, and I'm frozen.
Why the fuck is he smelling me?
Why am I smelling him back?
I try not to lean into him, but I can't help it. He's just rightthere, taking up all this space. I've always been sensitive to smells, like everything else, and I catch a hint of petrichor, something earthy, like the ground after fresh rain, with a citrusy note. It's calming, parting the sea of intense synthetics and perfumes and stale alcohol around us.
And only when he pulls back, not exactly giving me space, but far enough for me to take in his perplexed expression, do I realize I just let this complete stranger corner and sniff me.
"Umm, can I help you?" Later, I'll be embarrassed by how breathy I sound.
"Whatareyou?" he growls, leaning down so close our noses nearly touch. His voice is deep, the tone low, raking over gravel. The citrusy scent is stronger on his breath. Oranges and lemon.Clean and crisp. His brow furrows, pulling the scar above his eye taut. It cuts through and disfigures the eyebrow, leaving a thin, hairless white line in its place. It shouldn't make him more attractive, but it does.
Violence. That's what the scar says. He's so full of violence, I can nearly taste it.
Full lips pull into a snarl. "Answer me, pet."
"Uh, what?" I swallow. I'm certain I should be offended by a slew of things he's done in the last thirty seconds, but I can't concentrate on any of them, only his eyes, dark green, like a forest after dark, as they sear into me.
I shake my head and try again. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
He narrows his eyes, then leans in again and sniffs. I resist the urge to fidget. I may skip perfumes and body sprays, but I know I smell clean. Maybe a little sweaty.
