I swing my eyes back up. His face looks young. Not young like me. Younger.
A few bangs fall over his eyes, brushing his cheeks. Light brown hair with sun-kissed strands, long enough to brush his neck, get tousled and look like a sexy mess.
He takes a couple of steps toward the window.
As if aware of my stare and my curious eyes, he threads his fingers through his hair and combs it all back. The faint smile curving his lips gives him a slight air of danger.
His eyes narrow again as he glances in my direction. My stomach is tied in knots.
Can he see me?
Teasingly parting his lips, he lifts an eyebrow and looks away, stretching his corded neck.
His hands rake through his hair again, pulling the jacket up. I notice his flat, tight abdomen and narrow, muscular hips.
Suddenly, he swaggers closer to the window, stopping right in front of me. If it wasn’t for the glass wall separating us, I could probably touch him.
Swallowing hard, I set my glass on the table and lean back in my chair, studying him thoroughly.
He can’t possibly see me. The glass is thick and dark.
Tilting his head back, he narrows his eyes and looks down his nose, pouting around his cigarette.
My heart begins to flutter while his eyes stay on me as if he sees me.
Perhaps he examines his reflection. Whatever he does, I can’t take my eyes off him.
It’s been some time since anyone has held my attention for so long. Scratch that. Nobody has ever held my attention. But this has to do with way more than his looks.
His expression hardens, his eyes drilling into me from behind the glass, making my heart jolt.
Can he really see me?
I’m pretty sure he can’t. I tear my eyes away briefly and shoot them back at him again. He’s still there, staring at me, his head tipped to the side, an eyebrow lifted.
I cock my head to the side too. He peels his eyes away from me. Or what I think it’s me.
Lips curled into a smirk, he swaggers away.
Shit.
He saw me.
I lose sight of him for a moment. When I find him again, a black car pulls up in front of the bar, and he walks to it.
The window on the passenger’s side goes down while the car engine is still running.
He braces his hands against the top of the car, bends at the waist, and talks to the driver before flicking his head to the side and flashing a sexy grin.
My nipples harden, and my neck gets hot.
What the fuck?
His lips move, saying words I can’t make out.
I should be able to figure out what he says if my focus weren’t completely shattered.
I notice a stark contrast between his smirk––that could make a woman come––and the turmoil in his eyes.