CHAPTER SEVEN
Ruben
She’s fucking here with someone. A fucking man.
Of course, a woman like her couldn’t be single, you dimwit.
Why do I feel this way?
She’s got me losing my mind, and I don’t even know her name.
And what am I turning into? What is she doing to me?
Centuries ago, a woman like her would be called a witch. Right now, I’m starting to think that’s true; she cast a spell on me. I’m bewitched. Or cursed.
My eyes are glued to her from across the room, the low hum of conversation around me fading into nothing. She’s sitting there with a man—one of those bland, perfectly clean guys good girls dream of— laughing softly at something he said, her eyes bright, her lips curved into a smile that could melt stone. I don’t care if it’s just a smile. I don’t care if it’s nothing, really. All I can focus on is the way her red hair cascades over her shoulders, the way the dim light catches its soft curl. Those brown eyes, the ones that locked onto mine earlier, hold something I can’t name. That same thing that has been eating at me since I first laid eyes on her.
I hate that she’s here with someone else. I want to be the one making her laugh. I want to be the one she looks at like that.
But she’s not looking at me. Not now. Not tonight.
Instead, she’s giving her date every ounce of her attention. The guy can’t stop grinning like he’s winning some fucking prize. He’s too polished, too clean. I can’t stand the way he sits there, leaning in and trying to engage her in conversation like he’s some kind of expert in her life. It fucking pisses me off. And I can’t even explain why.
I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t care at all.
But when she shifts in her seat, tilting her head slightly as she listens to whatever vapid thing he’s saying, my stomach churns. I clench my jaw, resisting the urge to walk over there, grab her by the arm, and drag her out of this fucking restaurant.
It’s absurd. We don’t even know each other. Hell, I don’t even know her fucking name. But there’s something about her, something that makes every other woman blur into the background. The moment I saw her outside the rundown theater distributing those stupid flyers, I knew she was different. Not just different, she’s a fucking force of nature. Like a tornado disguised as a woman, all fire and ice and everything in between.
But tonight, she’s with him. Not me. And I can’t help the frustration that bubbles in my chest.
I reach for my beer, trying to steady my nerves, but I’m aware of every fucking movement she makes, even across the room. The way she picks up her glass of wine, the way she laughs, and the slight tilt of her chin. There’s something so fucking alluring about her.
My old friends, Marcos and Leo, are talking, but I’m not listening. They’re jabbering about the latest case they’re working on—typical lawyer talk. I don’t give a shit about it right now. All I care about is her. And it’s fucking ridiculous. I’ve got a whole fucking life to deal with, a whole mess of things to sort out, but all I can think about is the way she made me feel the first time I saw her.
And now, here she is, sitting with some guy who doesn’t even seem to know how lucky he is.
It makes me want to knock him out.
I drag my eyes away from her for a second to look at Leo, but it’s hard to focus. My mind keeps drifting back to her.
It’s like there’s a fucking magnet pulling me. Deeper and deeper.
I can feel her, like she’s just a breath away, even though she’s across the room.
“Ruben,” Leo says, his voice cutting through the fog in my brain. “You listening, man?”
I blink a few times, forcing myself to focus on him, but it doesn’t work. At this point, I probably need a good slap. My gaze keeps flicking back to her, to the way that fucker is leaning in a little too close, his hand resting on the table, almost touching her fingers. The possessiveness in me flares up like a goddamn wildfire.
I didn’t come here to fucking sulk over some woman I don’t even know. But here I am, practically drinking myself stupid over her.
Shit. What is she doing to me?
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, not really hearing anything Leo says. “Just… I’m fine.”
“You sure?” Marcos asks, looking at me with raised eyebrows. “You’ve been staring at that woman across the room for like…half an hour. You good?”
I stiffen, my chest tightening. Of course, they’ve noticed.
“She’s not my type,” I say, my voice flat, but I can feel the lie coming out of my mouth. “I don’t know her.”
I don’t know her, but I want to. Dios , do I want to.
The tension in the air seems to shift when I see her look up, those brown eyes catching mine. It’s brief, just a flash, but it feels like she’s pierced through the damn fog in my brain. She doesn’t smile, doesn’t even acknowledge the intensity of my gaze. She just looks at me, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly like she’s trying to make sense of me.
But that look, that slight widening of her eyes, does something to me. It triggers something deep inside, something I can’t explain, something that makes my heart race and my pulse skip.
Hell.
She stands abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. I watch as she straightens, her gaze lingering on me for just a moment before she turns away and heads toward the bathroom. My body reacts before my mind has the chance to catch up.
Fuck it!
I don’t even think twice.
I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing. My body moves before I can stop it. I stand, not really thinking about anything except the fact that I need to be closer to her. I don’t know why. I don’t care why. I just know that if I don’t get closer, I’ll fucking lose my mind.
“Excuse me,” I mutter to Marcos and Leo, who are too distracted by their own conversation to notice I’m leaving. “I’ll be right back.”
My steps are purposeful and steady. I don’t care what the fuck my friends think. She’s walking away, and I can’t just sit here like an idiot.
The air between us is thick with something unsaid. I don’t know if it’s desire or if it’s something else entirely. My heart beats faster with every step I take. My chest tightens with anticipation.
She doesn’t look back, or acknowledge me trailing behind her, but there’s an unmistakable tension in the air. It hums between us, pulling me closer. She’s walking toward the hallway that leads to the restrooms, but I know it’s not just the bathroom she’s after.
I catch up with her before she reaches the door. I don’t say anything. I don’t need to. She can feel me there, just behind her, and when she stops, I do the same.
“You’re following me?” Her voice is low, a little breathless like she’s trying to hide the crack in her composure. I can hear it, though. That edge of something undefinable.
I lean even closer, so close now that I can feel the heat radiating off her, her perfume wafting up to meet me. The scent of her hits me like a rush of adrenaline, and I fight the urge to take a deep breath, to inhale her in and hold it there.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my tone quiet but laced with a challenge.
She glances over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing slightly, but there’s a flicker of something in them—maybe frustration, maybe curiosity, maybe even a little excitement.
“Is that how you want to play this?” She raises an eyebrow, clearly trying to keep control of the situation and her emotions. But I can see it, that crack in her armor. She’s just as drawn to me as I am to her. She might not admit it, but I can see it in the way her breath hitches slightly when I step closer.
I take another step, my presence closing the space between us until we’re almost chest to chest. Trapping her between my body and the corner and the bathroom door. One arm over her head, pinning her in place.
I can feel the tension between us tightening like a wire stretched too thin, ready to snap.
“Not a game,” I murmur, my voice low and rough. “I’m not playing.”
She stiffens, her eyes flicking up to meet mine. There’s no denying it now—the heat in her gaze, the pull between us. Her lips part just slightly, and my mind flashes to all the ways I’d love to close the gap between us.
But I don’t. I won’t. Not yet.
Instead, I take a deep breath and let the silence stretch out between us, letting it simmer, letting it build.
Finally, she exhales, but it’s shaky. Like she’s not quite sure what to do with the energy crackling in the air between us. She’s nervous. I can tell. But I can also tell that she’s intrigued. She can’t hide it from me, not with the way her pupils dilate ever so slightly when our eyes lock.
“You’re bold,” she says, a little laugh escaping her lips, but it’s nervous, unsure.
“I get what I want,” I reply using the words she told me. My voice is calm but carrying a weight that I know she feels. “And right now, I want to know you. Not just the woman standing outside a theater trying to save it, but the real you.”
Her eyes flash with something, a spark of defiance. She doesn’t back away. Instead, she tilts her chin up slightly, meeting my gaze with a strength I admire. She’s not backing down.
“Why? You don’t know a thing about me,” she says, her voice steady, but I catch the quiver beneath it.
I smile, a slow, teasing thing, watching as her breath catches again.
“Not yet,” I murmur, my eyes scanning her face, lingering on her lips for just a moment too long. “But I’m damn sure about to. What’s your name?”
“Lennon Callahan,” her words are just a whisper. Lennon Callahan.
The silence that follows is thick and heavy. I can hear her breathing, shallow and quick, but neither of us moves. Neither of us speaks. It’s like we’re both waiting, just on the edge of something we’re not ready to dive into.
“My name is…”
“I know who you are,” she cuts my words. “You’re the enemy.” Her hand reaches for the bathroom door handle, and breaks the moment.
“I’m not.” At this point, I don’t know who the hell I am. Only one thing flashes in my mind. I want this woman.
“You’re fighting against my memories.”
That’s a confusing statement. Another challenge. Oh, baby, you don’t know me at all. Bring it on!
“I need to go,” she finally says, her voice more controlled now, as if she’s regaining her footing.
I can’t stop the rush of disappointment that hits me as she opens the door. But I hold my ground, not moving an inch, letting her walk away.
I’m not going anywhere. Not yet.
I wait, leaning against the wall just outside the bathroom door, listening to the distant sounds of the restaurant. My mind races with the possibilities—what comes next? What the hell am I even doing?
But one thing is clear: I’m not done with her. Not by a long shot.