Page 36 of Into These Eyes
As I enter and lock eyes with the barman, he takes a few steps over to a woman in a flowing white dress that gently hugs her figure, her hair up in a messy auburn ponytail.
Slowly turning on the barstool, she takes me in, her eyes dancing with delight before her mouth curves upward. My breath catches and I stop in my tracks. I’d give anything to have her look at me like that when she’s sober.
She’s clearly drunk, clearly happy to see me, yet obviously in a world of pain she’s been trying to drown.
But I’m not here to take in how beautiful she is. I’m here to help her. She hadn’t forgotten the promise she made me. Andthe smart girl that she is, she kept it. All while wasted on grief and alcohol.
When I move up beside her, she points at me and says to the barman with a giggle, “He thinks I’m gorgeous.”
An uncomfortable heat races up my neck. Christ. Even while drunk, she hasn’t forgotten my slip up.
Gripping my shoulder, she leans all her weight against my side. I wrap an arm around her waist before she topples off the stool.
“Thanks for coming, man. Time to get her outta here before she gets herself in trouble,” the barman says.
“Oh, Sammy-whammy, don’t be a big party pooper,” she slurs with a grin, then looks up at me. “He’s mean.”
Sammy-whammy rolls his eyes at me. It’s definitely time to go.
When I look down at Jamie pressed against my side, she grins at me with glazed, yet happy eyes. It’s evident she’s achieved her mission to forget. I’d been worried my presence would bring it all rushing back. Apparently not.
I pull my phone from my pocket so I can book an Uber, but realise I don’t know her address.
“Got your phone?” I ask her.
“Course I do, silly,” she giggles. “How’d you know I was here otherwise?”
Well, at least she still has some rational thought processes going on in that alcohol-soaked brain.
“We’ll need it to book an Uber and get you home.”
She slaps her palm against my chest and laughs, like I’ve said the funniest thing she’s ever heard.
“Okay,” I say, trying to ignore how warm her hand is through my shirt, and how fucking good her body feels pressed against my side. “What’s your address?” I ask, figuring it might be easier to book it on my phone.
“I can’t remember,” she slurs, letting her fingers slowly trail down my shirt’s buttons. When I give her a questioning look, she says, “Oh! Maybe it’s on my phone?”
Her fingers pause above my navel. “Wait a minute,” she says as she flattens her hand and rubs her palm across my torso. “Are those muscles?”
“Phone, Jamie.”
“Oooo … I can feel them getting all tense. Can I see?”
When she tries to undo a button, I flatten her hand with mine.
Jesus, this isn’t the woman who came to see me today. The warmth of her body pressed against me, and the touch of her hand on my stomach, is driving me crazy. Only one problem. None of it’s real. It’s the alcohol, not her. I know that. Well, at least my brain does.
I take her purse from her shoulder and place it in front of her on the bar. I really don’t want to dig around in there, but I will if I have to.
Fortunately, she gets the message, removes her hand from my abdomen, and fishes out her phone. Unlocking it with fluid swipes, she hands it to me.
I quickly find the app, book a ride to the destination she has saved ashome, then haul her off the stool and wrap an arm around her waist, tightening my grip when she stumbles in her heels. After making it through the club without an incident, we wait outside the entrance for the Uber that’s only a few minutes away.
At the kerb, I close my eyes and take it all in. The warm, gentle breeze caresses my skin and ruffles my hair, reminding me how freedom feels. Six months ago, along with the sixteen years that preceded it, I’d have been locked in a cell for the rest of the night, with no possibility of experiencing heavenly fresh air. Such a simple thing. Sometimes it’s these tiny moments that hurt themost. But that’s not all there is tonight. Now I have a beautiful woman clinging to my side and resting her head against me.
Shifting, Jamie takes a step in front of me, trips on my feet and stumbles. When I haul her flush against me to keep her from going down, she wraps her arms around my waist and holds on tight. Her cheek gently rubs against my chest, her hair brushing my jaw and catching in my whiskers as that amazing scent of hers gets sucked into me with my next breath. It’s intoxicating and surreal, so completely the opposite of my experience in prison, it’s hard to wrap my head around.
Of course, I’m left with no choice but to continue to hold her. I wouldn’t want her to fall and crack her head on the concrete. Getting her home safe is my only priority.
