Just as I’m swallowing a small sip from my fourth glass of vodka tonic, my phone starts to buzz on the counter. I’m now wondering why I bothered pulling it out of my purse as I grab it, eyeing the display screen. I roll my eyes, and then when I swipe the answer button across the glass screen of my phone, I speak in the harshest voice I can muster, “Go! To! Fucking! Hell!” I punctuate each word to get my point across, then press end, tossing it into my purse. Why doesn’t he just give it up already? He’s the one that fucked up, not me. He and I are finished! There is no talking your way out of that shit. There is no apology that can undo it. Our relationship is over!
I hope his dick falls off! Yeah, that’s a bit harsh, but who gives a shit?? Not me.
Fuck him!
And fuck her too!
I nearly jump in my seat when I hear the sound of a man’s voice. It’s a deep strong, modulated voice, the type of voice that penetrates your ears and demands attention. “He must have fucked up pretty bad to make a beautiful woman sit in a bar, drinking all by herself.”
Although the voice is pleasant to my ears, I just want to be left alone tonight. Getting hit on really is the last thing I need right now. I look in the direction of his voice to glare at him. He’s sitting around the corner to my right, only about five feet away from where I’m seated. My eyes automatically soften when they meet the bright blue flames. Talk about intense. They look like the blue embers of a roaring fire reflecting back at me.
Damn!
I need to say that again. Damn!
Those might be the most perfect set of eyes I’ve ever seen, and definitely the most intense. I lean back a little, feeling like I’ve been knocked back against a wall. Air momentarily leaves my body. How have I not noticed this man before now? It may be dark inside the bar, but those eyes stand out; they’re virtually glowing at me from a few feet away. When the oxygen returns, I silently ask myself, am I that caught up in myself? Yeah, I am. At least, tonight I am.
The way he’s staring at me is unnerving…unraveling. It’s as though he looking inside my head and really seeing me, seeing the “me” I don’t allow people to see. The last thing I want is for anyone to see that deep inside. Of course, maybe it’s just the alcohol and I’m only imaging the way he’s gazing at me.
As I take in the rest of his face, I notice his hair is dark brown or it could be black. It’s too dark in the bar to tell. It's messy on top as though he’s run his fingers through it a few times. He has a square jaw with a little stubble on his face that makes him slightly rugged, but sexy as sin. A mouth that looks like it could devour anything it touches. Allowing my eyes to dip, I see he’s wearing a dark-colored suit jacket with a white shirt, no tie. The jacket is open with the first two buttons at the top of the shirt undone. There is no hair that I can see poking out, so he probably has a smooth chest. His shoulders are broad…large. He’s not a small man by any means.
This guy is smoking hot and oddly…familiar, but I know I’ve never met him before. I would remember a man like this.
I begin to feel a little off balance and not because of the alcohol I’ve consumed. My body heats up and I feel a flush creeping across my face. Whatever thought washed through my mind is gone now. I can’t remember what I was going to say, so I turn back to my drink, taking an even larger sip, not liking this feeling in the pit of my stomach one bit.
I don’t know why I’m even drinking a vodka tonic. I hate this drink. Tonic, yuck. But I can’t lie to myself; I know exactly why I’m drinking this. Vodka will get me where I plan on being the quickest. I have a goal, and I intend to get there.
He addresses me again as I’m draining the liquid in my glass down my throat. “You really should slow down. That’s your fourth, and I don’t want to see that beautiful face of yours hit the floor.”
He sounds like he is genuinely concerned. I don’t give a shit how concerned he is. I am none of his business, and how much I drink is certainly none of his concern. Who the fuck is he to tell me to slow down? I’m starting to get pissed off. It’s been a long fucking day, and an even longer time since anyone has told me what to do. I’m not about to let someone do it again.
Ever!
I look in his direction, giving him my best “fuck off” expression. “I don’t believe I asked nor need your permission to do as I damn well please, so why don’t you mind your own God damn business, and stay the hell out of mine?” I say this in a calm and controlled tone, hoping that it will shut the fucker up.
It doesn’t.
His eyes darken and smolder. I wish he wouldn’t look at me the way he does. It makes me squirm in my seat. The look in his eyes screams authority and control. I’ve seen that look once before, but not exactly like his. He doesn’t scare me at all.