They’re friends, this group, that much is obvious. Likely brothers, if I’m to assume the similar dashing looks and suave grace have anything to do with genes. But they’re tight. They laugh with the air of familiarity and companionship most only dream of.
And for one wild, lonely, crazy minute… I want to be with that group. I want to belong the way they do. I want someone to know me, to really, truly know me, to care about me, and to welcome me home.
I blame the long car ride and the uncertainty ahead of me. I’m too pragmatic for such romantic idealism. I shake my head and take another sip of my drink.
I glance quickly back at the group of well-dressed men.
The man at the center of the group, who seems like he’s the focus of tonight’s attention, smiles sadly and takes another sip from his drink. His dark hair falls over his forehead, and he shoves it away impatiently, like he doesn’t have time to have obscured vision. I couldn’t really see him before when they entered because so many of the others were crowded around him, but now… now I can’t take my eyes away.
I’m not sure if it’s the rugged cut of his jaw covered in dark black stubble, or the way… oh, God, the way he takes up half the table with the breadth of his shoulders. My eyes travel down the muscled column of his neck, and even the expensive fabric of the suit he wears can’t hide how large and strong he is. Someone talks to him and he responds. I can’t hear the words, but the deep, rough register of his voice makes a heaviness settle between my legs. He’s raw, unadulterated, visceral male, and I’ve never seen anything like him in person.
As I stare, he lifts his head. His eyes beneath heavy dark lashes and brows meet mine, catching my eye from across the room. He holds my gaze, and I can’t tear my eyes away. I can’t tell the color of his eyes from across the room, but I feel the fire in them hit me straight in the solar plexus.
My lips freeze on the margarita glass. My heart’s beating faster. My fingers wrap around my drink more firmly, as if to anchor myself onto something tangible before I drown. I can’t breathe while he holds me in his gaze, as if an electric connection’s fused us in this one stolen moment of time.
I turn away first. I have to. It feels like a forfeit.
If I don’t stop staring at him, I’ll become his. He’ll beckon me to him, and I’d walk over there as if hypnotized. I’d give him my very soul if he but crooked a finger.
I stare down at the plate of food, as if coming back to Earth. Everything feels strangely foreign. Even when I take another bite of pizza, it no longer holds the tantalizing appeal it did just moments ago.
“Ahh, Romeo,” one of the men says behind me in a thick Italian accent. “You need more than a drink and food tonight, amico, eh?”
Romeo. Why do they call him Romeo? Is he known for being a charmer, then?
I’m glad I looked away. I have no use for a charmer. I bet he has a beautiful wife at home. I bet she’s waiting for him, in their perfect house with their sweet little children. Well, no, his friend’s hinting he needs a woman tonight, so… none of this bodes well.
“Is it good?”
I blink in surprise, and look up at the man sitting next to me. I almost forgot about him. He’s determined to make sure that doesn’t happen. I almost forgot about everyone but the man across the room who’s somehow managed to ignite me with merely a look.
“It’s delicious, thank you.” He smiles and signals to the bartender. “We’ll have another drink.”
“Oh, no, thank you,” I say with as much grace as I can muster. “After this drink, I really need to go.” I shake my head at her. “Just a water, please.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course you need another drink. What’s the rush?”
Ugh, one of those men, who thinks he’s within his rights to push me. Newp.
What is the rush? All I’m going to do when I’m done here is find a public restroom where I can freshen up for the night, then an abandoned parking lot that’s relatively safe where I can park and sleep before the big reveal tomorrow.
“Just water,” I insist.
“For now,” he says, nursing his own drink on the rocks. “So tell me about yourself. What brings you here?”
I take another slice of pizza, finally feeling relief from the ache of hunger in my belly. The food’s revived me a bit, but the alcohol’s made me sleepy.
For one brief, hysterical second, I imagine myself telling this skeevy stranger the truth.