I put him behind me—which is exactly where he belongs—and turn my attention back to the brooding guy at the bar. He must feel my gaze on him because he picks that moment to turn and look at me. His dark eyes look almost black from here, his gaze intent.
For a moment, I see surprise on his face, but it’s quickly transformed into visible anger. He stands up, and my heart flips in my chest. I feel a moment of trepidation. I’m sure I don’t know this guy, but as he walks over, I get the distinct impression he’s mad at me.
Or maybe he hates me….
“Uh… hi,” I mumble as he stares. His face turns from anger to confusion, but I’ll take that over him looking like he wants to kill me anytime. He just stands there his eyes locked with mine.
“Do I know you?” I finally ask, not sure what’s going on.
“No,” he finally says after staring a little longer. “I-I thought you w-were someone else,” he adds, giving me a smile that doesn’t really show in his eyes. Still, it somehow makes him even hotter than he was before.
“They say everyone has a doppelganger out there somewhere,” I respond with a shrug.
“A wh-what?”
“Doppelganger. You know, like an evil twin—although I don’t guess they have to be evil, but I think it would be more interesting if it was.”
“So, you’d be the good twin?” he says, and his smile deepens.
“Sadly, yes. I’m kind of boring,” I tell him, scrunching up my nose.
“I-I doubt that.”
“You want to sit down?” I ask, partly because him standing over me while staring is a little uncomfortable and partly because I really would like for him to.
“I sh-shouldn’t,” he says, but he surprises me by sitting down anyway.
“I won’t bite,” I assure him.
“Darn,” he jokes, and I can’t tell if he’s flirting or just sharing a laugh with me, but I really hope he’s flirting.
“Well, I mean, I could if you want me to,” I compromise, grinning at him.
“Wh-wh-what’s your name?” he asks.
“Lyla,” I respond, holding out my hand. He stares at it, grinning so big that his eyes sparkle like onyx. When he puts his in mine, his fingers brush against my knuckles, teasing the skin. My flesh tingles, as heat spreads down to the tips of my toes. “What’s yours?” I ask, and damn it, I’m pretty sure my voice comes out sounding dreamy—as if I’m under his spell. Which, I think I kind of am, and I’m not even sure he’s trying to cast one.
“T,” he says.
“T?” I ask, scrunching up my nose. “You don’t look like a T.”
“It’s sh-short for Thom-Thomas.”
“Do your friends call you Tom or Tommy? Cause you don’t look like those either,” I giggle.
I can tell he has a small speech issue. He looks uncomfortable every time he stumbles over a word. It sounds weird, but I kind of like that. After dating Chad, the last thing I want to do is meet another cocky guy. It’s not that Chad and I were anything serious. We weren’t, but that was my decision. Apparently, it was a smart decision.
“Friends c-call me T or Thomas. Only two pe-pe-people call me Tom, one of those is my sister.”
“Who’s the other?” I ask, trying to decipher the look on his face.
“N-n-no one important. We w-will c-call her your e-e-evil twin.”
I laugh, but I see a tightness enter his face, so I study him for a minute. “Is that who you thought I was?”
“Huh?” he asks, looking surprised.
“When you came over here, you looked at me like you wanted to throw me into a field of cockle burrs.”
He laughs and I almost swoon. Lord help me, he’s got a great laugh.
“Yeah,” he responds. I nod, not sure how I feel about the fact that I remind him of another woman—one he clearly doesn’t like. “But only for a m-minute,” he qualifies, and I guess that’s good.
There’s a lull in the conversation, and I’m feeling just a little uncomfortable, mostly because he keeps staring at me as if he’s searching for something.
“Do you live here in Virginia?” I ask him finally. I figure it is either ask him that or how he likes all the rain we’ve been having. Talking about the weather just seems like something I shouldn’t do.
“N—no. I’m just getting away for the day. I l-live in K-K-Ken-Kentucky. Sorry,” he mutters. “My stutt-ter. It’s b-b-been a rough day.”
My heart squeezes in my chest. It hurts me that he feels the need to apologize for something he doesn’t have control over. I know people can be mean, but I just couldn’t imagine anything bothering him.
“It’s kind of silly to apologize for something you have no control over, Thomas.”
“It makes people un-com-com-uncomfortable.”
“Do I look uncomfortable?” I ask, looking him in the eyes the entire time and holding his gaze so that he can see the truth.