The bartender presents him with the payment terminal, and as he’s selecting a tip, a man slides in next to me on my far side, accidentally bumping the back of my chair.
Instinctively I turn, and he immediately apologizes.
I make the mistake of smiling, and he says he’s from Denver.It’s his first visit to Dallas, and he asks how we tolerate the heat and humidity.
“You get used to it.”With that, I turn my attention back to the stranger who bought me a drink.
He lifts his glass, angling it toward me.“To a memorable evening,” he proposes.
“You’re skating a fine line.”I smile.
“The one between confidence and arrogance?”He doesn’t sound remotely concerned.
My pulse is too loud.
With a challenging grin, I pick up my glass and clink the rim against his.
The cut crystal sings, clear and bright.
Then, aware of his gaze on mine, I take a steady sip.
The whiskey-forward drink settles into me with a pleasant warmth, familiar enough that I let my shoulders drop a fraction.He watches me like my reaction is the only thing happening in the room.
“How is it?”
“Wonderful.”Much better than the bottle of bubbles that Chiara had wanted.
“You look like you needed that,” he says quietly.
“Yeah.”
He waits.
“Long week.”The admission slips out before I can stop it.
His gaze warms—just a fraction.“Then let’s call this the start of a better one.”
I take another refreshing sip.
And just like that, everything tilts, like an elevator easing down a floor.A metallic curl threads down my tongue.My thoughts don’t stop, but they…lag, half a beat behind.
The rooftop soundscape blurs at the edges, the music dipping lower, distant, like someone’s turned the volume down in another room.
I frown and glance into the glass.The level’s barely changed.
Is it hitting me so hard because I’d had champagne first?
The city lights beyond the rooftop smudge at the edges, turning from crisp lines into smeared streaks of color.Gold and blue and red melt together like wet paint, but there’s a lazy, contented warmth uncurling in my chest that doesn’t match the sharp spike of alarm in my head.
I blink, hard.My lashes feel heavier than they should.
“Too strong?”he asks, voice a little too close.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, and the words come out smooth, not slurred.A half-octave softer, maybe.Like I’m humoring him.
Except I’m not fine.Something is…off.
My limbs feel light and heavy at the same time, as if my bones have been wrapped in cotton.
