Page 25 of His To Erase
I take a slow breath, willing my pulse to stop doing that stupid fluttering thing it’s been doing since he walked in.
"Well, well. If it isn’t the great philosopher himself," I murmur, reaching for the bottle. "You here to discuss Nietzsche over cocktails?"
He doesn’t react.
"Just the whiskey."
I tilt my head, letting a smile tug at my mouth.
"Shame. You don’t strike me as a light reader."
One corner of his mouth twitches—barely—but it’s enough to register. Then it’s gone. Buried under that unreadable, coiled stillness again.
"And you don’t strike me as a bartender."
My brow arches. "No?"
"No."
His gaze drags over me slowly, and way too effectively.
"You look like trouble."
I pour the drink as steady as I can manage, even though my insides aren’t.
"That’s funny. I was just about to say the same about you."
He doesn’t answer. Not right away. He just watches me as he takes the glass from my hand, and his fingers brush mine. Just for a second, but it was long enough.
A flicker of heat that rushes straight through me. I have to bite the inside of my cheek and keep my expression neutral.
Or I try to.
He lifts the drink to his mouth, slow and unhurried—like he’s doing it for show and knows I’m watching.
Because I am.
He sets the glass back down, eyes dipping—not just to my chest, but lower, like he’s giving me time to catch him.
"You should be careful who you flirt with, bartender." His tone is mild, but his gaze is anything but.
I lean against the bar, meeting it head-on.
"And you should be careful who you underestimate."
This time, he smirks. A slow, crooked curve of his mouth that feels more like a threat than a compliment.
And my pulse spikes again.
His fingers tap once against the glass, then he lifts it again, and sips like he has all the time in the world.
My eyes track every movement, helpless against the pull—how his fingers wrap around the glass, how his mouth barely parts, how the amber liquid slips past his lips.
I hate the way my body reacts. The way my pulse kicks up, and the way my skin heats under the weight of his stare like I’m already losing a game I didn’t agree to play.
I roll my shoulders back, forcing my spine straight, as I arch a brow. "So, what, you only read when I’m around? Or do you just haunt libraries for fun?"
A flicker of amusement passes through his expression, but it’s gone before I can grab onto it. "You were watching me."
