Chapter One #2
Maybe he should’ve just gone home, crawled under his weighted blanket, and started binge-watching a show where people’s relationships were even messier than his.
Or gotten a cat.
He took a sip, and the sugar and sharpness hit his tongue, a sweet relief cooling his throat.
A body pressed in close against Jamie’s left side, trapping him between an immovable force and the bar. He leaned sideways, but the stranger only nudged nearer, reaching over Jamie’s shoulder to get Ash’s attention.
“Hey, could I get a bourbon sour?” The stranger’s voice was smoke and amusement, flagging Ash down with a two-fingered salute.
“Honey, if you press any tighter against me, I’ll need a consent form.” Jamie nudged the stranger, only for his hands to make contact with solid muscles.
Sweet lord. He’d never touched anything so hard, not above the waist. He had to force his hands away. The guy’s cologne didn’t even begin to cover the man’s natural scent. It hit Jamie like a punch. Clean, fresh, edged with something earthy, inviting him to breathe deeper.
So he did, inhaling the scent deeply into lungs like he’d been deprived of oxygen.
Then he looked up and met a pair of bluish-gray eyes the color of antique glass bottles.
His dark hair was a lazy mess framing sharp cheekbones, and he wore an old band shirt paired with tailored jeans and a black leather watch.
Something about him said he knew exactly what reaction he was having on Jamie.
The stranger’s smile landed like a body check, all warmth and something sharp hiding just behind it. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to crowd you. Unless you wanna show me the dotted line.”
Jamie blinked. The statement was delivered dry, mellow as velvet. Zero arrogance, just a flicker of challenge under the words.
“I charge by the minute in personal space.” Jamie’s lips quirked. “As close as you are, I’ll have to charge double.”
Why on earth was Jamie flirting with him? He was at a bar to drown his misery, not shamelessly bat his eyelashes.
Laughter rumbled from the stranger’s throat, low and unguarded. “Damn. You’re a savage. I’ll keep my hands where you can see them. Promise.”
For the first time all night, Jamie’s mouth almost twitched into a smile.
The guy slid onto the newly vacated stool beside Jamie, as if he’d never doubted his welcome. He still kept his distance, as if making his point. “I’m Sloane, by the way.” He extended a hand.
Jamie wasn’t looking for company. Especially not from anyone with a pulse, a jawline, and a functioning sense of humor. Yet somehow, Sloane made it easy. He waited Jamie out, not overbearing, just steady, like a set of headlights guiding you down a back road.
Ash must’ve made his mojito with double the alcohol because Jamie never had poetic thoughts about a guy. Not the guys he’d dated.
“Jamie.” They shook. Sloane’s grip was firm, his skin warm, making Jamie want to hold it for a bit longer.
Up close, Sloane’s features landed somewhere between hot and dangerous—square jaw, aquiline nose, and eyes that held too many secrets. When he smiled, a shallow dimple appeared on his left cheek. If Jamie were drunk, he might’ve swooned.
“You’ve got strong ‘mysterious stranger at midnight’ vibes,” Jamie teased, although it was true. There was just something about the guy that was both fascinating and frightening.
Tilting the glass of whiskey under his chin, Sloane seemed to consider his observation.
“Depends on who’s asking. If you’re an undercover cop, I have no clue where the bodies are buried.
If you’re a novelist looking for inspiration, I’ll let you dig deeper.
” Sloane leaned in closer, his voice lowering.
“But if you’re someone who wants to get to know me better, we can negotiate the terms.”
A shiver raced through Jamie before he could stop his reaction. Sloane smirked, and somehow, it felt like the beginning of a very dangerous game, leaving Jamie wondering if he should run or stay.
Somewhere behind Sloane, someone cheered, and glasses clinked. A woman at the end of the bar cackled as if she’d just heard the best joke of her life. All of it faded to a hum as Jamie became hyper-aware of the man next to him.
With a slight tilt of his head, Sloane scented the air. Jamie had no idea why, because he hadn’t used body spray tonight. Then he looked down at Jamie with a strange glint in his eyes.
I am not drunk enough for this.
Jamie raised his arm to get Ash’s attention, but quickly yanked it down, cupping his upper arm with his hand. The way sharp pain pulsed through it he feared William had done a lot more damage than bruising.
“You all right?” Sloane’s gaze flicked to Jamie’s hand, concern knitting his brows.
“Pinched a nerve.” Jamie forced a smile. “Happens when I use the espresso machine at work. You ever operate one of those? Brutal.”
He didn’t work with an espresso machine and had no idea why he’d used that excuse. He worked at a pet store, and the only thing resembling a coffee machine was the battered one in the storage room that doubled as a break room.
Sloane didn’t look convinced. “I’m more of a French press guy. Less hazardous to my limbs.”
“I never could figure out how to work those things,” Jamie confessed, hoping to steer Sloane’s attention away from his arm. William was the last person he wanted to think about, let alone discuss. He could still see those icy-blue eyes and the monster behind them.
When Ash sauntered his way, Jamie ordered another mojito, desperate to forget the violence and William’s threat.
That had been the first time William had laid a hand on him, but Jamie’s gut told him it wouldn’t be the last. Not when William had acted like Jamie ending things was merely a suggestion.
He was the biggest danger in Jamie’s life, and Jamie couldn’t figure out how to get William to leave him alone.
Chad had been an emotional drain, but he’d never made a threat or refused to break up.
Sloane leaned a little closer, pitching his voice soft and low by Jamie’s ear. “Not gonna lie, kitten. I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better.”
All thoughts of William vanished as electricity shot straight to Jamie’s cock. For a dizzying second, he’d almost forgotten why that was a problem.
When Sloane’s lips pulled back, the smile that followed carried just enough wickedness to leave its fingerprints on Jamie’s soul.
Holy. Shit.
Jamie swallowed roughly, the bar forgotten as he stared into Sloane’s bluish-gray eyes. What was it about the guy that drew him in so strongly, that made Sloane’s gaze feel almost hypnotic?
With a smile, Sloane sipped his drink, one eyebrow cocked in silent invitation. The ball was in Jamie's court now. The silence between them stretched just long enough to be interesting rather than awkward.
“Do you need validation?” Jamie tapped his fingers against his glass. “My dating history’s basically a masterclass in men with validation issues, so let me know up front if you’re the type who needs a gold star sticker every time you make someone blush.”
That might’ve sounded harsh to most, but after dealing with one loser after another, Jamie was over emotionally draining assholes.
Sloane was the hottest guy who’d ever flirted with him, but that didn’t mean Sloane was stable.
Most gorgeous men were crazy. That was what Jamie had heard, and he wasn’t in a rush to find out if it was true.
He’d rather date his hand than deal with another nutjob.
Sloane’s gaze never wavered. “Validation’s for people who don’t know what they bring to the table. I built the damn table.”
Jamie blinked twice, mojito halfway to his lips. His brain cells were having an emergency meeting, and not a single one showed up with notes.
The confidence in Sloane’s voice… That did things to Jamie’s pulse.
Things he wasn’t ready to psychoanalyze, like why that level of cockiness made his thighs clench. Not when he was two mojitos in and his mind was flashing, Error 404: Brain not found.
Sloane brushed Jamie’s arm, careful not to touch where it hurt. “Did I answer your question to your satisfaction?”
This man definitely wasn’t a Chad or William. Not with that level of commanding presence. The way his eyes traced Jamie’s face felt as if Sloane was reading his mind.
Grabbing his glass, Jamie gulped down half his mojito in one go, eyeing Sloane over the rim.
Figures. The universe finally sends me a hot guy who doesn’t need a therapy session every five minutes, and I’m short-circuiting like I’ve been asked to defuse a bomb with dental floss.
He shot Sloane a sidelong glance. “My dating history didn’t prepare me for someone with actual self-esteem. It’s honestly rude of you.”
Sloane placed a hand over his heart with theatrical flair.
“My sincerest apologies, kitten. How dare I have actual self-esteem while flirting with the most gorgeous man in the bar?” His grin widened lazily, a flicker of mischief dancing in his eyes.
“Next time I’ll lead with my childhood trauma and a PowerPoint about my trust issues. ”
Jamie found himself fighting a smile despite feeling strangely at ease with this ridiculous man.
Gradually, his body relaxed the way it did after surviving a hostage negotiation.
Sloane had this effect, like he could soak up all the stress and return it repackaged as something lighter.
Jamie kept leaning in, laughing at the guy’s stories about weird bar bathrooms and the proper etiquette for drinking sake wine with strangers.
The edges of Sloane’s eyes crinkled when he smiled.
Nothing predatory about it. The kind of look that would make most people instantly start confessing hidden sins or ask him to help them move a couch.
Jamie wasn’t sure how much alcohol it took to trick his brain into feeling safe after the night he’d had, but Sloane had gotten him close.
Another mojito appeared in front of him, glass sweating condensation all over his napkin. He tipped back half of it in one swallow, and the last shreds of tension loosened enough that he didn’t notice his body pitching sideways on the stool until his head practically landed on Sloane’s shoulder.
He caught himself just in time, but his hand found Sloane’s knee instead. His jeans felt like they’d been washed three thousand times, soft and worn-in. Jamie’s laugh came out loud, way too loud for the moment, but he didn’t have the energy to care anymore.
Sloane just glanced down, then back up, eyes smiling like Jamie had handed him a present. The guy’s laughter was softer, but he didn’t let Jamie go. The sound in the bar faded into background static, voices blending and swirling away from the island he and Sloane had made at this end of the bar.
Sloane’s smile never faded. He watched Jamie, eyes tracking every sharp turn in his mood, every twitch of his mouth. Jamie felt seen, and it freaked him out more than he wanted to admit.
At some point, Sloane’s hand found Jamie’s arm again. This time, he just anchored Jamie with the lightest possible grip, thumb resting on the inside of his elbow, as though Sloane had already mapped out which moves would send Jamie running and which ones would keep him still.
“You wanna exchange numbers?” Jamie asked as his mind screamed that the alcohol was making him reckless. He swatted that voice away. No nagging tonight. Plus, he couldn’t even remember why he shouldn’t be doing this.
Taking Jamie’s phone, Sloane thumbed in his digits and handed it back. “Text me so I have yours.”
Jamie shot off a text. If I wake up in a tub of ice missing my kidneys, I’ll call you first.
Sloane’s laugh was rich and magnetic, sinking into Jamie like it belonged there. “Deal.”