Page 8 of Dangerous Pursuit
What it is, I'm not exactly sure, but my body seems to know. I scan my options and grab a fresh blue t-shirt and pull it on.
I glance in the mirror. Maybe I should do something with my hair? Maybe style it better? Maybe…
I look into my own eyes in the mirror and let out a self-depreciating scoff. It doesn't fucking matter. He's not going to care how I look, anyway. I grab my phone and my car key and march out the door, slamming it behind me. It's way past due to fucking end this.
Chapter Five
Xander
IT'S ALMOST TWO AM, and I've been sitting in my car for hours. And I haven't ended shit.
Instead, I've been sitting here, parked in a shadowed alley by Skin on Skin, watching Liam work like a fucking stalker. The cool night air seeps in through the cracked window, but I barely notice the chill as I grip the steering wheel tightly.
I almost walked out of my car and gazillion times now, almost marched over, almost confronted him. Almost.
Because what the fuck am I going to say?Hey, remember when I asked you out, and you said no? Yeah, I'm not having it, we're going out?
For fuck's sake.
The line to the club has long evaporated, single groups of patrons coming by in fifteen-minute intervals. Liam's sitting on his stool, black shades propped on top of his head. I'm parked in the distance and I can't see his face clearly, but my mind supplies the details, half his frame illuminated by the pink neon sign, the other half bathing in the moonlight. And I still don't have the courage to walk up to him.
A thought flashes through my mind—I could just go home. Forget I came here, forget I've wasted hours going through what-ifs.
But if I do that, then I'm just a creep who lurks in alleyways, watching people work. And that's not me.
I swallow, my throat dry like a desert and give myself a nod of encouragement. It's now or never.
My fingers tremble as I open the car door. The creak of the hinges sounds impossibly loud in the stillness. Stepping out, I make sure not to make a peep as I close them with a soft thud.
This is it.
I take a deep breath and straighten up, hoping that adjusting my frame will give me the courage I need.
But it doesn't, and my legs are wobbly as I walk over to, well, probably get rejected again by a person I'm technically not supposed to be interested in, anyway.
I'm halfway between my car and the club when the front door opens, and a guy emerges. I hastily take a step back, plastering my back against a wall, hiding myself in the shadows once again. I just need to wait him out. I don't need for strangers to witness my desperation.
The man walks the short carpet between the door and Liam's post. But instead of walking past him, he stops at the end of the carpet and says something to Liam. They bump fists and Liam rises from his stool. And only then, with both of them standing straight, it hits me—the size of the other guy, his massive frame matching Liam's. Their matching outfits. The way Liam pats him on the back and walks along the carpet until he disappears inside the club with the other guy making himself comfortable on the bouncer's stool.
For fuck's sake! That's what I get for creeping around for hours on end.
Alright then. The club it is.
I push off the wall, marching faster this time. If Liam disappears in the crowd, I will never find him. It's not until I'm face to face with the wannabe-Liam that I realize I'm not on that fucking list.
Shit.
The new bouncer gives me a rude once over and arches his eyebrow in anticipation. His bulky frame blocks the entryway, muscles straining against his tight black t-shirt.
Go on, Xander. You can do this. "Umm, hi. Hey,” I stutter. “I'm… IT services. You called about a problem with the terminals?"
The guy's face grows stormier, and he sits up straight, his eyes almost leveled with mine despite him sitting down. He's not having any of that. A vein bulges in his thick neck as he glares at me.
I swallow, the vision of getting my ass handed to me flashing through my mind. I shouldn't risk it. I should just say I'm confused and bolt. Unless… "I'm joking. It's Blake," I say. "Blake Jacobs. I'm on the list?"
I count backwards from ten and sweat bullets, my cheeks flushing. If the guy actually knows Blake, I'm done. I'm definitely getting my ass kicked.
I'm down to four when the guy finally breaks his stare and looks down at the fucking list he's holding. He scans the page for no more than a second before he nods. "Enjoy your night, sir," he says and pulls back the velvet rope.
