Page 71 of Never To Suffer

I make a show of glancing down the bar, surprised when I land on someone. He looks familiar, and he’s brooding, which means he’s my type. Broad shoulders, powerful hands, and there’s something about that salt and pepper hair giving me all the right vibes. “Uh, hold that thought on the numbers.”

He follows my stare and laughs, slipping into a terrible Australian accent. “Cricky, even when not on the hunt, the mantis has spotted her prey. This member of a particularly rare and elusive Silver Haired Brooder species appears lost, drawn away from his herd of elder millennials that would protect him from her punk rock princess style. The huntress can’t ignore the instinctual pull to mate with the creature in the darkest corners of her inner sanctum. Will he be capable of evading her attempts and cry it out at home, alone? Or will the power of the mantis prove too strong, as she rips his head clean off after mating, leaving me a mess in the back room?”

“Dude, you have got to lay off the nature channel. Seriously. And I have NEVER left you a mess. Prick.” I lick my bottom lip before pulling it through my teeth. It helps me think. I’m a little out of my element. Older guys are more Xander’s thing. If he were here, he’d stalk this prey with me, and it would be all over for this poor guy, like Racket said. It’s not like I’m going to bang the guy, just some making out and dancing. “Send him a drink.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

I push my boobs up as I watch Racket pour a Jack and Ginger and head over to the guy who hasn’t even raised his head to look around. How does anyone do that? Sit in a bar full of raucous bands and fans without being swept up in the commotion and camaraderie? My brain cannot wrap around that idea, which is part of why I’m drawn to him. He’s a mystery, a puzzle box, a thing I need to take apart while he takes me apart.

Confusion lines his face when the drink slides in front of him, and he looks down the bar at me. There’s interest. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t squeeze my legs together as he stood up from his barstool. He’s taller than Xander, shorter than Skylar, and he might beat Skylar in an arm-wrestling competition. Which I’d pay to watch.

“I’m told I have you to thank for trying to get me drunk?” His velvet laced voice has me hooked already. He reaches out and puts the drink on the bar, and I get a look at his tattooed forearms. The ink goes further up, but he’s wearing long sleeves, and they’re only rolled up so far. That’s when I notice he’s wearing a dress shirt. And a vest.

A dad? At a rock show? “You look familiar, but?—”

He shakes his head with a deep, dark laugh. It’s sexy as hell. “We met once, last year. I’m surprised you remember at all”

“Last year?” I squint harder and lean in. The smell of cinnamon and a freshly opened barrel of expensive whiskey surround me. “Did we fu—Wait! I do remember you! You were a judge at that St. Patrick’s battle!”

“A last-minute addition when the original judge called out sick.” He smiles, but it’s forced. “I, uhm, had hoped your band would win. Sorry it didn’t work out. You were good.”

“Were? Baby, wearegood! Besides, that got us a gig that paid pretty well.” I laugh and touch his arm, feeling his muscles tense and quickly relax. “Here to judge more bands?”

“Drowning the sorrows of the day.” He takes a drink, licking his lips with a deliberate slowness. “It’s fortuitous to meet you here, though. You made a lifelong fan of me that night.” I get the sense he’s hiding something. Maybe he’s a serial killer and I’m his next victim, but I’m not getting the murder-y vibes from him. Famous last words.

“Fortuitous, eh?” I cock my head to the side. “Then why do you look so bored?”

I have this sudden urge to know more, to get inside his head, to find his broken bits and put him back together. My curse in life. I can spot broken men with deadly accuracy, but I can’t keep myself away from them once I find them. It’s why I never became a therapist.

“Troubled mind. The atmosphere helped improve my mood over the last few minutes.”

“It’s the drink, isn’t it?”

“It’s the company, too. You’re easy to talk to.”

“Yeah, I have that effect on people. Bringing out the party in everyone and everything. The Midas touch of fun.” I reach out and run a hand down the buttons of his vest. “I like your look. Not a lot of guys show up to these straight from their day jobs, and those that do, don’t have the hot professor look going for them. In fact, if you added glasses, I don’t think I’d be able to resist you.”

Without a word, he reaches into an inner pocket of his vest and slips on a pair of black-framed glasses, completing the nerdy professor illusion. I can’t stop myself from imagining being sandwiched between him and Xander. “You’re the second person in the last few weeks to tell me I look like a professor. Although, I’m not convinced it’s a compliment.”

He tips back his drink before sliding the empty glass across the bar, nodding to Racket for another. He turns to face me, dark hazel eyes staring into my soul. Fuck. Me. I may have been wrong about thenot having sex at the club tonightthing.

“Do you believe in fate?” He asks.

“Is this about to be a bad pickup line?”

“Not intentionally. I hope I don’t come off as a creep, but it’s possible I was meant to come here tonight. To see you.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Yeah, that sounded better in my head. I meant talking to you, nothing more. It’s helping my mood.”

I’m trying to tamp down the warning bells going off, reminding me of all the true crime I listen to that say he could be a stalker or worse. Can someone be too hot to be a murderer? No, people thought Ted Bundy was hot. “Wait, how many names do you have?”

“Names?”

“Like, do you have a serial killer middle name? John Wayne Gayce? Mark David Chapman? Teddy Bobby Bundy?”

He laughs, a deep, real laugh this time. “You know way too much about serial killers. I’ve also never heard him calledTeddy Bobbybefore. But no, I don’t have a middle name. I’m Theo.”

“Nice to meet you, Theo.” I take the hand he offers and go to shake it, but he turns my hand over and kisses my knuckles instead. He’s good, and he’s gonna murder me one way or another if I sneak him backstage. “So, what’s with the brooding?”

“Ah, you don’t want to hear all that shit.”

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