Page 26 of Strike
Instantly turning red, I spun on my heel and pushed into the bar. I was here now, so I approached him, focusing on not falling on my ass.
He’d seen me coming and had turned his head slightly, and all I could see were his eyes shining mysteriously in the half-light. Fuck, he was so handsome it put me on edge.
Leaning against the bar, I smiled. “Hey.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners, and he straightened up. “Hey.”
That was when I got a front on view of the cut on his cheek and the gash that split his eyebrow. His eye socket was a little bruised, making the rich chocolate of his irises stand out even more.
“Oh, my God,” I said, my hand flying to my mouth. “What happened?”
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Mark,” I began, but he reached out and grasped my hand. My mouth closed, his touch sending sparks up and down my arm like his fingertips were live wires.
“Gin and tonic?” he asked, his lips curving wickedly.
“Gin and tonic.”
Turning, he raised a hand to get the bartender’s attention and placed an order. Paying, he picked up the two glasses and smiled at me.
“C’mon,” he said. “I’ve saved us a table at the back.”
Nodding, I allowed him to lead me through the darkened bar. We wove through tables, passed the jukebox, and into the back where several booths were positioned along the wall. Mark took us to the one right at the rear.
The table was round, so the bench traveled in a U-shape around it. He set the drinks down and slid along the bench, gesturing for me to follow. I sat beside him, the curve of the seat allowing me to be close yet still study his expression. A tea light candle in a tiny glass jar and the rather dim mood lighting were the only sources of illumination, and I began to feel hot under the collar. It was intimate in the romantic sense, and I wondered if this was why he’d brought me here.
“This is frustrating,” I said, reaching for my drink.
“What is?”
“Every time I see you, I’m at a loss for words.” I sipped, the alcohol tingling the back of my throat as I swallowed.
“Believe me, I know the feeling.”
Glancing at him, I studied the cuts and bruises on his face and couldn’t shake the awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“What happened?” I asked, angling my body toward his. “Is something wrong?”
He didn’t answer. He just lifted his beer to his lips and drank, his eyes narrowing.
“Listen, I don’t know you from a bar of soap, so anything you say to me, I can’t really judge. I’m a clean slate.”
“I’m not an easy guy to get to know,” he said wryly.
“I’m beginning to see that.” I downed a healthy dose of gin and tonic to steady my nerves.
Setting my drink down on the table, I took a deep breath. I was completely clueless when it came to reading those infamous ‘signs’ that told me if a guy was interested romantically or not. Most times, it just went right over my head, and before I knew it, all my chances for a bit of action had passed, and I never got to lick anything.
Not tonight. Tonight, I’d give some signs. It was worth a shot, hey?
Lifting my hand, I brushed my fingertips over the cut on his eyebrow, then I lightly traced around his eye and cheekbone. He didn’t move, but at least he didn’t push me away.
“Where’d you get this?” I murmured, the closeness of the private booth making my head swim.
“Callie…” His jaw was tight, and I squeezed my thighs together.
“Mark…”
