Chapter 2—Hot Stranger At The Bar

Sniffing, I throw back another shot of whiskey and wince at the familiar burn of anger and disappointment in my throat. Rather than feel better, it feels like a battering ram is being shoved into my skull in hopes of splitting it open. The music is a tad too loud for my sensitive ears, and I’ve had to smack someone’s hand off my ass. Twice. I should go home. I will, after this last shot. It isn’t my second or third. Perhaps my fourth. Don’t care. I am in a serious and committed process of decision-making when he enters. The music is pounding with furious intensity and I am squinting at the multi-color flashing light when a man steps out of the shadowed entrance of the club. Heads turn his way as he makes his way toward the bar at the other end of the club. He doesn’t seem to notice this attention, as his gaze remains fixed in a direction I’m not particularly interested in. Women and men alike whisper about who he could be and I scowl, looking back at my drink. Sure, he is kinda hot, but I’m not sure i can stare at a hot man for long enough and not hurl a bottle at his head. Men are scum. I want to scream, to let out all the frustration and hurt I feel. But I came here to avoid doing that. So I sip my drink, letting the alcohol wash over me as I think of every moment shared, every kiss, every smile, every fight and— “Hey.” I look up from my glass and tip my head further back to find shimmering pools of mystery staring back at me. My breath catches in my throat as his sapphire orbs peer right into me and seem to strip me completely bare. His eyes are framed by thick, long lashes and there are no lines around them—or on his face. No lines of laughter or grief. His face might have as well been made of silk without a single crease. It doesn’t make him any less. . .beautiful. Beautiful in a savage sort of way. There is nothing delicate about the cut of his jaw or high cheekbones or his sensual full mouth. I have never seen such contrast in one’s face—wild, yet serene; hot, yet cold. He has a presence that commands full attention and there is something about him that makes me gravitate towards him. My brain begins waving a red flag—which, of course, I blissfully ignore. My cheeks flush as I realize I have been staring for too long and I look away abruptly as I sheepishly reply. “Hi. Uh. . .need something?” Absolute nonsense. I have no idea what I’m saying or thinking. In fact, I have no idea where my brain has gone. All I know is, this man has knocked me off balance and my brain has melted into jelly. His eyes twinkle a little. I finally understand what the term, “lost in his eyes” mean. He slides his glass over to the bartender and makes an order I don’t quite catch because I’m busy staring at his profile. Yeah. I’m a goner. “Peace and quiet,” he says, fiddling with the sole button of his suit jacket. I scoff as he slides onto the stool beside me. “You shouldn’t have come here then.” He chuckles and the deep baritone of his voice sends a delicious shiver down my spine. Holy lord. Could someone turn on the air conditioner, because the temperature just hiked a thousand degrees? “I realize that now,” he says and he suddenly looks solemn. “I just didn’t want to be alone.” Eyeing him as he collects his order from the bartender, who also can’t seem to keep her eyes off him, I wonder what the reason behind the bleak look on his face might be and why he came to the club to not be alone. “You have no friends?” I ask. He sips from his glass. “Just one. He died recently.” Silly me. I just had to ask that. “Oh, I’m so sorry. For your loss. I. . .” My voice trails off. I realize I don’t know what to say. I finally understand what the look is: grief. The man is grieving. He shrugs. “It’s fine.” An awkward moment of silence passes and needing to say something after emptying my glass, I blurt, “I lost my boyfriend. Today. It’s why I came here. To—I don’t know—not shed more tears than I can currently produce.” “My condolences,” he says, shifting uncomfortably on his seat. I burst out laughing. He thinks Grant/Steve is dead. Shit. Did I really say that? He observes me strangely as I snicker and a smile starts to bloom on the corner of his lips. I have been told I have an infectious laugh. And he just got infected. Somehow, that makes me laugh even harder, and he props his head on a fist, watching me with unabashed interest. “You have a beautiful smile.” I stop laughing. I suddenly don’t want to talk anymore. I think I might be drunk because his lips are suddenly starting to look very inviting. I am looking at him, taking in his features and feeling my heart race with unhealthy excitement. This isn’t good. This rush I feel inside can’t be good or safe. But I find that I am already leaning into his warmth. He straightens and I have the faint sense that I am about to get told off. “You’re drunk.” My eyes are fixed on his lips as I answer, “Maybe a little, but you already knew that before you approached me.” His lips tilt in a rueful smile. “Maybe, but you can’t blame me. Hard not to notice the only person who isn’t actively undressing you with her eyes. Approaching you was an easy decision after that.” I laugh and it sounds nothing like me, sultry and throaty. Dare I say I just laughed sexy? “And you’re so sure I haven’t already done this, why?” “You had a scowl on your face when you looked in my direction. That can hardly be interpreted as interest, or lust,” he says and the intimate look he gives me causes my heart to pound in my chest. “You’ve been watching me?” His eyes droop to my lips and a great surge of adrenaline rushes through me, leaving me dizzy and breathless. “Would you still kiss me if I said yes?” Dangerous territory. I should stand, apologize for stretching things too far, and head back home. But instead I tell him, “Maybe.” His eyes darken with desire and I know there’s no way in hell that I’m going home alone tonight. “What’s your name?” “Amber.” He tucks a lock of my red hair behind my ear as he says, “Want to head somewhere quiet with me, Amber?”