That little voice inside my head better shut the fuck up, because I have absolutely no business being interested in that woman.
None.
Yet, my eyes keep sweeping the club for her as if seeing her again will somehow wipe away this feeling growing inside me.
I only caught a glimpse of the other night before I had to duck out, but it was enough to leave a lasting impression. Even from across the large space, even with people laughing, music playing, and everything else happening around the club, her presence overwhelmed everything else. She took center stage without ever setting foot on it.
That’s how I know she isn’t here.
I don’t feel that magnetic draw that kept my focus squarely on her when it should have been literally anywhere else.
So instead of hopelessly searching, I force myself to watch the girl on the stage. She moves fluidly. Effortlessly. The beat of the music perfectly in sync with the way her body twists and bends.
The bartender sliding a beer over to me refocuses my attention. “Anything else?”
I shake my head. “I’m good.”
“You want me to leave your tab open?”
“Nah.”
If I need to leave quickly again, the last thing I want is to owe the club money, or to have my credit card sitting unclaimed. It’s better to fly under the radar as much as possible.
I grab a twenty out of my wallet and toss it onto the bar top. “Does that cover it?”
“More than. Let me get you your change.”
I shake my head. “Keep it.”
His eyes widen slightly. “That’s like, a ten-dollar tip…”
“Keep it.”
I know what it’s like to be young and struggling at a job like this where you’re really making all your money off tips. And he’s a decent bartender. Friendly, talkative but not intrusive, which means now that I have my drink, he’ll leave me alone unless I engage him in conversation.
Which is how I prefer it…
To be in control.
Allowing otherwise could be catastrophic.
Settling in, I absorb the vibe, scoping out everyone in the club—their locations, who they’re with, what they’re drinking, how many they’ve had, their demeanors and conversations.
I don’t even do it consciously anymore; it’s just become natural, so ingrained in me that I couldn’t stop myself from doing it even if I tried.
Some folks people watch for fun; I do it because not paying attention to those things can lead to dire consequences.
The doors on the elevator on the far side of the club glide open, and my heart climbs into my throat as she steps out.
With her long braids tied back in a bun high on her head and shoulders back, she takes strong, confident steps through the club. Her sharp gaze sweeps across everyone, carefully surveying all the patrons, the girls, memorizing where each and every person is and every detail about them—exactly what I was just doing.
I can practically see the wheels turning in her head behind those stunning dark bourbon eyes. She’s taking stock of everyone, making calculations, considering where she would need to be and what she would need to do if there were a problem.
Wicked intelligent and calculating.
Only more reason to like the woman—and need to fly under the radar around her.
The corner of my lips curls up watching her work, and I force myself to take a drink of my beer and tear my gaze from her before she catches me staring. Drawing unwanted attention to myself—now or ever—wouldn’t be wise.
