Page 15 of Strike
Fuck, I was desperate for someone to be glad to see me. Someone who wouldn’t scowl and change direction when they saw me coming. I didn’t want someone to try to fix me. I wanted someone to listen. I could do with a little kindness. A drop. I would take any little scrap.
Storm R:Okay. Let’s meet.
7
Callie
Isatin a bar on Brunswick Street, my second gin and tonic on the table before me.
Two blocks away was the boarded-up remains of The Fitzroy Cake Company. Luckily, I didn’t have to pass it on my way here. Otherwise, I would be an even bigger ball of nerves.
When my handsome stranger had sent me a message, I’d almost dropped dead on the spot. And that was saying something considering it had almost happened to me for real. After a slew of trolls and random dudes sending me photos of their limp dicks, Storm R had answered the question correctly. What color was I painting the storeroom?
It was a simple question, and anyone could’ve guessed it, but when he’d mentioned how the can had tipped over, I knew it was him. I knew it. Anyway, he was due to meet me tonight, and when I laid eyes on him, there would be no denying it.
A blast of cool air tickled my cheeks as the door opened. My heart twisted in anticipation, but the man who walked in was blond and was leaning down to kiss a woman who was far more glamorous than I was. Resisting the urge to curl my lip at them, I sipped my gin and tonic.
Was the fire only four nights ago? It felt like an eternity had passed waiting to meet the man who had saved my life.
Checking the time on my phone, I saw he was fifteen minutes late, and I shook off the feeling of foreboding that was growing in the pit of my stomach.
The door opened again, and I glanced up, my heart deflating when I saw it was only a woman. She crossed the bar and greeted her friends, smiling all the way. I watched her with a pang of jealousy as she sat down and immediately launched into conversation. Life was so easy for some people. Confidence was never my strong suit, which was why I liked sharing my cakes on the Internet. Even with its trolls and perverts, I didn’t have to put on a pretense twenty-four seven. I could totally hit the delete button.
Nursing my gin and tonic, I took a sip to pretend I was doing something other than waiting for a guy who had obviously stood me up. No one came to a bar alone unless they were a raging alcoholic, right?
I glanced at my phone for what felt like the millionth time, but there were no messages from the mysterious Storm R. What if he was just another crackpot and this was an elaborate scheme to humiliate me. The world was fucked up like that, so I wouldn’t be surprised. Shaming was a lot of people’s first port of call when they found something to be outraged or jealous over. Modern living at its finest.
Listening to the bustle around me—music and happy conversation—I sank deeper and deeper into depression. He’d probably stood outside, saw me through the window, decided I wasn’t pretty or thin enough, and legged it. Either that or Macy was right. He wanted to remain anonymous and had second thoughts about meeting me.
Checking the time, I sighed. Now he was half an hour late. Safe to say he wasn’t coming.Great, just fucking great.
Draining the last of my gin and tonic, I picked up my handbag and rose to my feet.
“Callie?”
Glancing up at the sound of a male voice, I froze when my gaze connected with a pair of familiar chestnut-colored eyes. My fingers went limp, and the handle of my bag slipped from my grasp. It landed by my feet, but I didn’t bend to retrieve it. I was trapped in the vortex that was my mystery savior.
It was him. There was no doubt about it.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” I said.
“Sorry I’m late,” he replied, his voice washing over me the same way it had the night of the fire. He glanced at the empty glass on the table. “Can I get you another?”
“Uh…” I shrugged. “Gin and tonic.”
He nodded and stepped over to the bar. Sinking back down onto my chair, I kicked my handbag between my feet and sucked in a sharp breath.Holy smokes.
Staring at him as he gave his order to the bartender, I gave him the once-over. I hadn’t had a chance the other night since I was suffocating and everything, but now I was free to study every little detail while his back was turned. And what a back it was.
His haircut was rough like he’d kept it shaved and it had grown out a little too long. He’d dressed nicely, a gray shirt and dark-colored jeans, and those same boots were on his feet. The ones with the scuffed toes and loose laces. His arms were well defined, and his shoulders were broad. His ass was perfection. Complete perfection.
The bartender placed a bottle of beer and a glass in front of Storm, and he handed the guy some money, then returned to the table.
He set the glass in front of me, and I took it, desperate to ply myself with a little liquid courage. Our fingers grazed, and at his touch, I almost dropped the lot into my lap.
He sat opposite and rested his elbows on the tabletop.
