Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Sterling
Louis is sweet and sexy, and his oblivion to both things glows around him like a neon sign. It makes him undoubtedly more attractive in every way.
I wouldn’t say I’m a man with a type, but I am a man who runs on instinct, and every one of my senses is attuned to the man sitting beside me.
Staring at him before he even knew I existed, I’d taken note of the tension in his shoulders, the discomfort in his movements, the way every part of him oscillated between staying and going. I’d been watching him for ten whole minutes before deciding that close to him was where I wanted to be.
I’d wanted to be privy to his indecision, and I’d wanted an opportunity to change his mind.
“Now, back to our game,” I say, steering the conversation, observing very quickly that he enjoys me taking the lead. “What are your thoughts on one-night stands?”
Louis’s hand stills midair, drink only a fraction away from his lips, the surprise in his features unmissable.
“Too much?” I question, smirking at him.
He doesn’t appear to have buttons that need to be pushed, but rather I want to see if being comfortable would take him out of his own head and whatever riot his thoughts are causing him.
He places the glass down on the bar, then turns on the stool so his body is leaning toward me.
“If I said I’d never had one, would you believe me?”
I rub a hand over my mouth, buying myself time, looking like I’m thinking hard about the answer to his question. I turn my head, looking him straight in the eyes.
“I believe saying ‘no’ to a one-night stand is a choice you make, and not at all because nobody is interested.”
He raises a brow. “Is that so?”
I shrug. “You just seem like a man who knows what he wants, or at the very least what he doesn’t want.”
“And what would that be?” he challenges.
“You can’t prepare for a one-night stand.” The words leave my mouth, and I wait for them to land, and to see just how much damage I have to clean up. But when his eyes widen with surprise, an idea forms in the recesses of my brain.
“You can’t,” he confirms. “Well, at least I can’t, so you’d be right saying ‘no’ is a choice.”
“And what if we planned,” I say quickly, not wanting to stew on the best or worst idea of the night, “for a one night stand?”
His empty hands immediately begin clenching into fists, and it takes all my willpower not to unfurl his fingers one by one and tell him I want him to click his fingers. But something tells me this is where he draws the line.
So, I keep my thoughts, and hands, to myself, and just continue selling him my idea.
“I figure we’ve got all night,” I start. “I can tell you where I live, how we’ll get there, if I live with anyone, and what I want to do to you when I get you in my bed.”
His knee begins to bounce against mine, and I continue to ignore anything that brings attention to his nervousness.
“That’s…” He pauses, leaning his arms on the bar, fingers steepled. He’s avoiding my gaze, and it doesn’t bother me at all. His comfort is the priority.
“Why?” he blurts out. “Why would you do that?”
Why wouldn’t I?
Instead of bringing into question all the people he’s been around, and why it’s so hard to believe people are capable of going to great lengths for others, I give him the answer that makes the most sense.
“I want you,” I say. “I think we’d be good together.”
He snorts. Literally snorts, and I’m absolutely, undoubtedly invested in him now. A hand flies to his mouth while a smile stretches across mine.
“Something funny?”
“You think an anxious, old mess like me would be good with— How old are you?”
“I’m thirty,” I answer.
He sighs loudly as he runs a hand down his face. “Seriously.” His voice is low and resigned, and my heart pounds at the prospect of my idea falling flat. “You think an anxious, old mess, like me, would be good with a man who is ten years younger and wears his confidence like a second skin?”
In any other circumstances I would bask in the compliment, but it feels like a way for him to highlight what he sees in himself as flaws.
Something about his self-deprecation makes it impossible for me to turn away from him. I’m all in now, and I can’t tell if it’s the need to chase what I want or if it’s to prove him wrong.
“I want you,” I say again, the tone of my voice leaving no room for interruption.
“I don’t care if you’re anxious or old or a mess.
” I move my mouth to his ear. “So, if you’re done trying to change my mind, I want you to know, I live twenty minutes away from here.
I’m going to call an Uber in half an hour, and you’re more than welcome to join me. ”
I place a hand on his thigh and squeeze. “We’re going to go to my house, where I live alone, and we’re going to fuck. All. Night. Long.
“I will take care of your anxiety, and you’ll be more of a mess after I’m done with you than you ever thought possible.”
His breath hitches.
“I will take care of all of you. I promise.”