Page 5 of For the Plot
I groan and drop my head to the table with athunk. "Kill me."
"Nope. I'm going to find you a fantasy."
She straightens, eyes scanning the room like a panther on the prowl. I sit up, mildly concerned about who she's about to point out considering she and I have very different taste in men. She hums thoughtfully, tapping her chin.
“You do realize I showed up here in leggings and an oversized hoodie, right? I’m not exactly giving offon the prowl.”
"What about the guy at the bar?" she asks, nodding to her left and completely ignoring my comment. "Dark hair, light button-down, sleeves rolled up. Hot in that cocky, finance bro kind of way."
I glance casually. The man she's eyeing is maybe thirty, with a nice jawline and a touch of a smolder, but he looks too perfect. "Too pretty."
Maya wrinkles her nose. "Fair."
“And too young,” I add on.
“Too young?” She crooks a brow. “Skye, we’ve talked about this, your penchant for older men—actually.” She pauses, her lips curling into a devious little grin. “This might be the perfect time for you to indulge in that older guy fantasy. Have a hothookup or a sexy fling for a few weeks and get it out of your system.”
“It’s not a fantasy, it’s a preference. Look, I tried guys my age. Archer broke my heart.” I hold up a finger to keep track. “Mitch, my rebound from Archer, was also my age and he turned out to be dating me to get to you.” I hold up a second finger.
“Ugh, Mitch the bitch.” She scowls, rolling her eyes at the memory.
“Exactly. And the other two between him and Shane aren’t even worth mentioning because one couldn’t manage to wash his clothes more than once a month and the other still insisted on calling his mom…mommy.” Maya makes a fake gagging sound. “And then there’s Shane.”
“Fine.” She reaches out and swats away the three fingers I’m holding out toward her. “I get it. Plus, the idea of an older experienced man who knows how to please a woman is so fucking sexy.”
“Which is what I’ve been saying the entire time.”
She turns, eyes bright with mischief this time as she scans the bar again. "Okay… Oh…Wow, what about him?”
I almost jump at her reaction. “Who?”
“At the end of the bar. Black blazer. Older. Silver fox. Intense eyes." She nods with her chin.
I laugh under my breath, a slow, sardonic sound as I shake my head. "Silver fox, huh?" My tone is dismissive, but my gaze follows hers anyway, fully expecting a Santa Claus type man tucked away in a back corner. I scan the bar lazily, ready to toss out a sarcastic comment about him probably being someone's married boss on a corporate expense tab—until my eyes land on him.
I blink. Once. Twice. My stomach dips like I've missed a step on a staircase.
That posture. The quiet control. The way his fingers cradle his glass… but most of all, it’s the sharp, unforgiving line of his jaw.
My breath stalls. Ice clinks in my glass, but I don't hear anything but the sound of my own pulse.
That's not just some hot older guy.
That's Mr. Blackwood.
My high school sweetheart Archer’s dad. The same high school sweetheart who shattered my heart freshman year of college when I walked into a frat party and found him face-first in some other girl’s tits.
The song overhead swells with its hypnotic chorus about wanting what you can't have, and suddenly it feels like the soundtrack to this moment—this dangerous recognition that's making my skin feel too tight.
"No way," I murmur, leaning in without realizing it.
"What?" Maya's voice cuts through my haze. "Do you recognize him or something?"
I nod, eyes still pinned to the man at the end of the bar. "Yeah. I do."
My voice sounds strange. Low. Shaky. Like even my vocal cords are in shock.
“Well, who the hell is it?”
