Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Louis
That Night
I’m trying not to let Kendall leaving bother me. I know it wasn’t her fault that her babysitter had an emergency, and she needed to rush home but I don’t do well with the changing of plans. Especially ones that leave me sitting alone in a bar, with nothing but my thoughts as my only companion.
My stim was in full force the moment she walked out of here, my fingers snapping of their own accord every six seconds.
I’ve tried to still my hands, but my attempts are futile.
And repeatedly telling myself that the only thing that matters is my comfort, isn’t working in the way it was supposed to.
Picking up my cell, I give my nervous system something to do by scrolling through unanswered emails.
I work in recruitment, and despite how awkward I am with people I don’t know, there is something about finding the right person for the job, being able to pair traits and strengths against a checklist.
Putting down my phone, I clench and unclench my fists before giving in to the ingrained need. It’s not ideal to stop myself, and isn’t what my therapist recommends, but the mask I wear in public is never too far out of my reach.
“Is this seat taken?”
The husky voice intercepts my internal monologue, stealing my attention almost immediately. I turn to see a man, looking at me with a tender smile, waiting for my answer.
His face puts me at ease instantly, something about the fact that he’s willing to wait for me to respond and not bothered at all by my temporary muteness.
“No,” I finally answer. “You can sit here.”
“Thanks.”
He climbs up onto the nearby stool, and my gaze dances around the man’s body, entranced by the amount of ink he has, his forearms covered in a myriad of colors and designs. You couldn’t get me within an inch of an ink gun, but on him, they enhance the impact of his presence
Eventually, my gaze makes its way to his face, and my cheeks heat with embarrassment when I notice he’s watching me watch him.
“Like what you see?” he asks.
My hands and fingers move before I’m able to stop myself, and I force my eyes shut as the clicks play out.
“I’m sorry,” I say, shuffling off the stool. “I have to go.”
His brows furrow in confusion, and I don’t know why that look hurts me so much. I’m used to the judgment.
“Wait.” His hand falls on my bicep. “Where are you going? It’s okay if you’re not into guys. You don’t have to run away.”
“That’s—“ I shake my head. “That’s not it. I’m into men.”
“Okay, you don’t find me attractive. I can live with that.”
My fingers click again, and I abruptly shove my hands in my pockets. “It’s not that. You’re more than just attractive,” I admit.
Before I have the chance to torpedo my way into a disaster, the stranger saves me.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“Louis.”
He holds out his hand. “Louis. I’m Sterling. Sit down. Have a drink with me.”
The rasp in his voice complements his subtle demand. Swallowing down my embarrassment, I take his hand and sit back down beside him.
“I’m going to buy you a drink,” he says matter-of-factly. “What would you like?”
“A whiskey on ice, please,” I say.
Sterling flags down the bartender, and a few moments later, the man brings back our beverages, Sterling having ordered a Pale Ale.
I repeat the familiar flex of my hands, and before I can reach for my glass, Sterling’s hands cover mine.
“Dont try and stop on my account,” he says. “I don’t care if you snap your fingers for the whole night.”
It’s such an odd thing to hear someone say, especially someone who doesn’t know me. It makes it all that much more unbelievable because even people I know seem relieved when I rein it in.
“It’s fine,” I lie. “I can manage.”
I notice the clench of his jaw, and something squeezes inside my chest at his discomfort over my discomfort.
It’s new and it sets a standard I’ve never ever placed on other people. A standard I probably should’ve placed on other people.
“So, do you come here often?”
The tired pick up line has a laugh bubbling out of my throat, the ice between us certainly broken.
“I do, actually,” I answer. “You?”
“No,” he says before taking a sip of his drink. “I was meeting someone here, but they never showed.”
“Lucky me,” I say, meaning it.
Taking a small sip of whiskey, I look around the bar before allowing my focus to land back on Sterling. Just like before, he’s watching me, but it doesn’t feel like he’s trying to crack a code or decipher my every move, but rather, I can feel his interest and appreciation.
“Like what you see?” I ask, throwing his own question back at him.
He makes a show of looking me up and down. “You have no idea.”
I take another sip of alcohol, trying to diffuse the heat building in my veins, but it’s addictive being the center of his attention.
Without taking his eyes off me, he manages to get us another round of drinks, and I don’t decline.
I tell myself it’s the last one before I take myself home, choosing to end the night on my terms instead of having Sterling’s interest dissipate and watching him walk away.
“Let’s play a game,” he says, catching me off guard.
“What? Like a drinking game?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “More like a getting-to-know-you game.”
“Okay,” I drawl. “What do you want to know?”
“Favorite color?”
I chuckle. “Really?”
“No,” he says, smiling back.
“Are you single?” he asks, and that stops me short. I thought we were flirting.
Can he not tell?
“I wouldn’t be flirting with you if I wasn’t,” I say, hoping I haven’t misread this whole situation.
“Good to know,” he says. “Me too.”
“Single or…?” I hedge.
“Both,” he confirms, reading my mind. “Single and flirting with you.”
I roll my lips to stifle my grin, and I feel my chest hum. “Good to know.”