*Believed.* Past tense.
Because I'm done. Done with love, done with trust, done with all of it. From now on, I'm looking out for myself. No more giving my heart away to men who don't deserve it. No more building my life around someone else's promises.
The dance floor is starting to clear as the slower song ends. The player's partner kisses his cheek and disappears toward the bathroom, leaving him standing there alone. He runs a hand through his hair, that confident smile still playing at his lips as he surveys the room.
And then his eyes land on me.
Shit.
I look away immediately, focusing on my empty glass like it's the most fascinating thing I've ever seen. Maybe he'll think I wasn't staring. Maybe he'll move on to his next conquest and leave me alone.
But I can feel him looking. I can sense the weight of his attention. My face heats, and I curse my fair skin that shows every blush, every emotion I'd rather keep hidden.
The sounds around me continue. Laughter, conversations, the clink of glasses, but they all seem to fade as I hear footsteps approaching. Heavy boots on the wooden floor, coming closer. Coming toward me.
*Please don't. Please just go away.*
But the universe has never been particularly kind to me, so of course he doesn't.
"Hey there."
The voice is low, warm, with just a hint of gravel that shouldn't be attractive but somehow is. I keep my eyes on my glass, willing him to take the hint.
He doesn't.
Instead, he leans against the bar beside me, close enough that I can smell him: something woodsy and clean with a hint of whiskey. Close enough that I can see the flannel is even softerthan it looked from across the room, worn at the elbows and frayed at the cuffs.
"I haven't seen you around before," he continues, and there's genuine curiosity in his tone rather than the sleazy pickup line I expected. "You new in town?"
I finally look up, meeting his eyes for the first time, and—
Oh.
They're dark. Deep brown, almost black in the dim light of the bar, with little flecks of amber that catch the neon glow from the beer signs. Up close, he's even more attractive than I thought. Square jaw with just enough stubble to be rugged without being unkempt. Lips that curve naturally into a smile even when he's not trying. And those shoulders. Jesus. Broad enough that he blocks out half the bar just by standing there.
I hate that I notice all of this. Hate that my body responds even as my mind screams warnings. He's waiting for an answer, that easy smile still in place, completely confident that I'll respond. Because women always respond to men like him, don't they?
Well. Not this woman. Not tonight.
I open my mouth to tell him exactly where he can shove his interest, but before I can, he speaks again.
"You're cute."
I blink. Then I actually laugh, sharp and bitter. "Yeah, right."
His eyebrows lift, and that easy smile falters for just a second. "I'm serious."
"Sure you are." I shake my head, looking back at my empty glass. "Look, I'm not interested in whatever game you're playing, so you can move on to someone else. There's a whole bar full of women who'd love your attention."
"I'm not playing a game." He shifts, leaning in slightly, and I catch another whiff of that woodsy scent. "And I said you're cute because you are. Those dimples? Gorgeous."
My hand automatically goes to my cheek, covering the stupid dimple that Derek used to kiss. Used to. Past tense. Everything with Derek is past tense now.
"Dance with me," the man says, and it's not quite a question but not quite a demand either. Somewhere in between. An invitation.
I should say no. Should tell him to fuck off. Should go back to my motel room and wallow in my misery like a proper jilted bride. But I don't. Because I'm sad and lonely and he's right here, offering distraction in the form of those dark eyes and that confident smile.
And maybe, just maybe, I want to feel wanted for once. Even if it's fake. Even if he's just bored and I'm convenient.
