Page 11 of Chasing Wildflowers
Five
Lane
I glance at my big-mouthed best friend, shooting her a pointed look as we weave through the crowd. Heat radiates from the press of bodies, sweat and perfume tangling in the air while colored lights strobe across the dance floor.
“Do you always have to just blurt out whatever you are thinking?” I hiss, the sting of embarrassment still lingering on my skin.
She grimaces, tucking a blonde curl behind her ear. “I’m sorry. You know my filter doesn’t work. Why didn’t you tell me you met a guy?” she asks, hips already swaying to the beat of the music.
I stop and cross my arms, planting my boots against the sticky wood floor. “Because I didn’t ‘meet a guy.’ I served him a drink, and he barely spoke two words to me.”
What I don’t tell her: I can still feel his stare on my skin, the way his eyes lingered like he was memorizing me.
The man is seriously sexy. And that fucking nose ring? It just adds to the vibe he has going on. Pure sex and danger.
It’s the danger part I’m worried about.
I risk a glance over my shoulder, and through the blur of movement and flashing lights, I see him. His gaze is locked on me, heavy and unyielding, like a tether pulling tight. My breath catches, and I quickly look away, only to find Kam staring at me, head tilted to the side, an amused smirk on her lips.
“Seems like he wants to do a whole lot more than talk to you,” she teases, arching one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “He can’t keep his eyes off you. I say go for it. He’s fucking gorgeous. Besides, it's been months since you and Luke ended things.”
“There was nothing to end, it was just sex,” I muttered just loud enough for her to hear.
She rolls her eyes dramatically and hauls me into a messy spin. “I know, I know. You don’t date. All the more reason to take him up on what his eyes are offering.” She nods to the table we just abandoned. “That man is fucking you in his mind right now.”
Laughter bubbles up in my chest despite myself, mingling with the vibration of the bass under my boots. Kam is ridiculously off her rocker at times, but I wouldn’t change a thing.
I let her spin me around the dance floor, our laughter blending with the beat of the music, but everytime I turn, I feel him. Eyes locked on me. Like the rest of the bar doesn’t exist.
I let the music drown out my thoughts, getting lost in it, but it does nothing to drown out the weight of his gaze.
The song slows, flowing into the next. I brave a glance at Jameson, only to find his chair empty. He may be gone, but the heat his stare left on my skin remains.
“Shots?” I yell over the band.
Kam’s eyes light up. “Hell yes!”
I need to drown out the image of him. Those eyes, that stare. Burning through me like he already knows every secret I hide.
The next morning, I wake up groggy, and full of regret. My head throbs in time with my heartbeat, each pulse sharp behind my eyes and I wince against the sunlight spearing through the room in hot, accusing stripes. Groaning, I drag myself out of bed, the wood floors cool beneath my bare feet as I stumble to the kitchen.
The bitter tang of tequila still clings to the back of my throat.
How many did I take?
Four? Five? Too many.
I shake two Advil from the bottle and wash them down with a gulp of water. Leaning on the counter, I glare at the coffeemaker, willing it to drip faster. The smell of fresh grounds blooms into the air; dark, earthy, a promise of salvation. I’m definitely getting too old for shots.
Finally, mug in hand, I sink into my well-loved forest green reading chair in my oasis. Otherwise knownas my living room. Cream-painted walls glow in the morning light, the dark walnut floors rich and warm.
I curl up with my current read, a cute workplace rivals Rom-com1, but after rereading the same paragraph five times, I give up and set the book on the armrest with a frustrated sigh.
Jameson Crowe.
Even his name sounds dangerous.
Not even tequila could blur the memory of his intense stare and the way his eyes lingered on mine. The lust was obvious, yes, but under it something sharper gleamed. The kind of look that made my skin prickle, like he was peeling back my layers one by one, searching for whatever I was hiding.
