Page 13 of Things I Read About
“Ski with me tomorrow.” I command quickly. I should really slow down my mouth. Or my brain. Both.
His eyes narrow.
I realize I am staring at his mouth while making demands. I need to abort this mission. I am out of my depth.Literal reference to drowning. Comedies and Tragedies. Thomas Killigrew. 1664.I take a breath. “I mean, um, would you want to? Ski with me tomorrow?”
“I’m working.” He takes another sip of his drink.
I try not to visibly wither in front of him. Main characters don’t wither. Not at the bar, anyway. I can fall apart in my room.
“Right, of course!” I over-correct, sounding cheery now. “Well, it was nice to meet you.” I turn to go but Kat squeezes my arm. She shakes her head, then juts her chin out in his direction.
“What?” I whisper.
“That wasn’t a no,” she whispers back.
I look back at Nate.
He’s still watching me. His mouth is still quirked. I will my gaze away from his full lips up to his eyes. They’re so dark.
I want to stare at them, search the irises to see the varying shades of brown. I can barely see his pupils because of how dim it is in here.
He puts his glass on the counter and spins it in his fingers. He really does have lovely, thick fingers. His nails are nicely trimmed, too.
“Sal,” Kat coughs my name behind me.
“Um, night skiing. We could go night skiing? After you get off?”
His eyes widen just barely for a half a second.
I look down at my hands. I close my mouth and roll my lips between my teeth to keep it closed. Then I remember that is not what Sam would do. She would double down. I say it quietly, fast before I can stop myself. “Orbeforeyou get off.”
He stares. His nostrils flare, which could be an indication of many different emotions. “All right,” he finally says.
My eyes pop up. “All right?”
“Sure.”
“O-Okay,” I say, unable to stop a wide, goofy smile from exploding across my face. I stand a little straighter and push my hair back behind one ear. “It’s a date.”
“A date, huh?” He says, moving off his barstool.
“Oh, crap. Are you? You’re married. I didn’t see a ring. You should wear a ring,” I stammer.
He stands, towering over me—over everyone. Thank goodness I wore these heels or there’d be at least a foot between his eyes and mine. His eyes take inventory of all my features, from my hair, to my tight leather dress, down to my toes, and back up again.
“Not married.” His mouth does that almost-lift on the side again.
“A girlfriend, then? Of course you have a girlfriend, look at you.” I take a turn looking down his body, all the way to his fancy—fancy and huge—boots. “I mean, you could’ve just said no. It’s fine, I—”
He puts a hand on my arm.
I look down at his fingers. I bet he could pull my arm right out of its socket. Or clench his grip and simply snap my humerus in two.
“No girlfriend,” he says. His giant hand squeezes my bicep just barely to focus my attention on him. “Do you do this? Ask out strange assassins you just met at a bar?”
I’m about to say no but instead I make an unsure face and shrug. Main characters are mysterious. They are not nerdy med students who never even go to bars, let alone ask out strangers.
He curses under his breath. “This is probably a bad idea.”
