“I’m so sorry—” She paused with her frantic apology as she lifted her worried gaze to me. A flicker of recognition chased away her panic. “Sergei.” She licked her lips and relaxed for a millisecond, almost smiling.
Damn.That sounded nice. Her whispering my name. Partly in a pleasant brand of curiosity, like she hadn’t expected to ever see me again, but mostly in surprise. Hearing my name from her pink lips made this second “rash” decision to come here worth it.
Four days were all I could give myself to stay away from her. The haunted image of her cowering back from those two idiots I killed in the alley couldn’t leave me. Recalling her timid nature that contradicted her gumption not to quit kept me hooked.
I wondered about her at random moments.
I envisioned her when I lay in bed and couldn’t sleep.
And I fantasized about how she might react if we happened to cross paths again.
Hearing her whisper my name like that, in a sweet hush, was better than anything I could’ve dreamed up. Despite the noise of the packed bar and the lights and smells clogging up the atmosphere with too many distractions, I was riveted to her. To the sound of her saying my name. Staring at her as I grabbed some napkins, I was sucked into this trick of magic that made it seem like the rest of the world ceased to exist. As if all that mattered were me and her.
“Hi, Natalie,” I replied, keeping my voice neutral and calm.
“You’re back,” she commented quickly, trying to multitask and get another beer poured. “I mean. You’re here.” Flustered, she lowered her gaze and shook her head, making her long, brownhair sway from the ponytail she’d secured it into. “I… I don’t know who’s a regular or not to guess if you come back often or on any schedule. I’m not?—”
I chuckled, amused by how uneasy she was at facing me again. Or that she feared I’d take her simple words the wrong way.Shewas wrong. I was back because of her. And I bet that if she kept up this sweet innocence around me that drew me in, I wouldn’t be able to claim I was coming here out of a passing idea to drink because I was bored and idle.
As I wiped up the spill she’d caused, she winced and looked at me again. Her hesitation to maintain eye contact with me for long convinced me that she wasn’t used to having attention from me. The way she seemed reluctant to hold direct eye contact withanyman in the bar had me wondering if she was overly introverted and shy or if she was so sheltered that she lacked basic social skills.
I gave her my order for a beer, the same one I’d ordered last time, and settled in to merely watch her. Talking to her seemed like too much to ask for, but simply being here and seeing her comforted me. Almost like making sure shewashere, this stranger who’d ensnared my attention, was enough to appease me.
The next time I came in, she didn’t react with as much of a startled flinch of surprise to see me again.
“Hi, Sergei,” she greeted shyly when I sat in front of her again two nights later.
“Hi, Natalie,” I replied, tamping down the growl of desire that merely hearing my name from her lips caused.
That was it. An exchange of hellos. A long moment of staring at each other with too many unreadable emotions passing between us, charging the air with the start of an addicting connection.
Then a single beer as my order before I’d leave.
No further communication. No other expectations. Careful not to ogle her and make it obvious that I was staring at her, all to avoid making her flustered, I was a passive stalker. Each time I came in, just to see her, I appointed myself as her guardian. As the stranger who’d watch over her in case anyone gave her trouble.
Although the Diamond Mirage was a dingy hole in the wall, it never lacked customers. Plenty of them nagged her to hurry and berated her for screwing up orders, but no one else dared to invade her space and physically intimidate her like those two men had that first night.
Over the next three weeks, I told myself that it was nothing more than curiosity that kept me coming back every couple of nights. We shifted from the exchanges of hellos to asking how the other was doing. That upgrade of small talk became more when we both commented on the weather turning cooler. Which led to a general conversation about how hectic the upcoming holiday season could be.
No details came up. Neither of us seemed ready to inquire about anything personal. Both of us stuck with simple, ordinary small talk. Yet, each of those instances of simply opening up into something past strangers at a bar pulled me into wanting more and more of anything she’d give me.
I showed up on another busy night, wondering how I could ask her why she worked at a bar when it seemed like such an ill fitfor a short and sweet woman like her. She could barely reach up for all the glasses, but each time she tried to and her shirt lifted up to show a strip of her stomach was a temptation I didn’t regret seeing. And any time a customer got rude with her and she reacted too meek and coy, she proved that she believed in turning the other cheek and never talking back like her coworker, Rosa, did.
A bachelorette party had come tonight. Rosa had asked the very drunk women to stop trying to climb onto the bar to dance three times already. A bachelor party was also here—not related to the bachelorette. They seemed to be so wasted, they were about to keel over and pass out, but that didn’t stop them from being loud and rude. Besides them, the bar was overwhelmed with many more. More than what the two women could handle behind the bar. It made me wonder why the pot-bellied loser who sat on the stool and checked out Natalie wouldn’t hire another bartender to match the demand of his business.
I couldn’t blame the creep for staring at her. In that dark-blue tank top that showed off her cleavage and those tight black pants that seemed painted onto her sexy curves, she was temptation personified. Men and women couldn’t help but check her out. It got to the point that I had to wrestle with this ridiculous and possessive jealousy that flared up within me.
Natalie wasn’t mine. But I didn’t like that anyone else could look at her and get any ideas that she could be theirs, either.
Distracted with watching her bend over, I wasn’t paying attention to how close others were to me as I sat on my stool. A drunk bumped into my elbow, knocking his drink over. Cool liquid soaked my sleeve immediately.
“Oh, no!” Natalie didn’t miss the commotion. Although she was doing three things at once, she instantly noticed this spill. For how quickly she reacted with alarm, I had to interpret her attention as a sign that she wasn’t any better at keeping her eyes off me.
Fighting back my annoyance at the man who spilled his drink on me, I breathed through the instant urge to punch him or tell him to back the fuck away from me. It probably wasn’t even his fault, anyway. We were elbow-to-elbow in here, squished into the bar with how many people had chosen the Diamond Mirage as their watering hole for the night. Blaming this asshole for his clumsiness didn’t matter after I focused on how Natalie hurried to press napkins to my sleeve.
Her fingers on me felt good. Wet fabric and soggy napkins presented too many layers between us, but even this simple contact turned me on.
I couldn’t ignore the instant fantasy of what it would be like if she touched me more. If she would peel back my clothes, sporting a shy smile on her lips as she did so. If she were to trace her delicate fingertips over my skin and explore.
