He pushes them to one side, making them slide all across the sleek bar top into disarray.
I smile. “You’d have to try harder than that to bother me.”
Is he angry or just screwing with me? Is this how he acts with everyone?
Where do you get the nerve?
I pick up my drink and get up slowly from my table.
I’m going to go sit at the bar properly, start over, and talk with him.
Because I can makeanyonelike me.
Being likeable is my whole thing, and I’m not going to let him be the exception. I turn on the charm in interviews almost every day now, and I can do it to him. I’ll ask him some questions, give him some compliments, and I’ll have him eating out of my palm within five minutes. Easy.
But when I look back up, he’s turned around.
He’s walking into the back behind the bar, and then he disappears into the hall.
He’s gone.
I let out a breath and grab one of the paper coasters andflip it over to the blank side, retrieving the marker I keep in my pocket to sign autographs.
I write a note on the back:
Wasn’t angling to get you to fight me or fuck me.
Just wanted to make a friend.
At first I thought he was a fan, and then I thought he was flirting… but now I’m pretty sure it wasn’t either one. I don’t know why he seemed on edge, but empathy gnaws at me like a companion on my shoulder these days.
You never know what another person is going through. I know that better than anyone.
Until last month, I was a nobody with a simple tragic past:
Logan Stone?
Yeah, it’s such a sad story.
His actor friend died suddenly, years ago. Such a nice guy, and faced with that tragedy so young. Sometimes bad things happen to good people, you know?
People talked about it in my local theater circles, in hushed words.
But I’m no longer the guy whose best friend died. Instead of being constantly treated with grief-gloves, I’m treated like a heartthrob now. And I have no fucking clue how any of it works.
I need distraction. Now more than ever.
And I want it to be purely physical.
But it’s clear I’m not going to find it with this bartender, no matter how differently my cock felt about the situation.
Fuck, the way his ass looked in those pants was obscene.
My dick perks up at the idea of it again, even now, because I’m apparently insatiable.
And I can’t stop thinking of the radiant green of his eyes, too. It was like he could destroy me with a single glance, and the strange thing is that I want more of it.
What was going on in his mind?
