12. The Dark Stranger
12
THE DARK STRANGER
SAYAH
I ’m scrolling through my phone at the table, waiting for my friends to return from the bathroom, when a blur of colors on a cool gust of wind startles me into looking up.
Not expecting the handsome man I’d seen at the bar to be sitting at my table, I jump.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you!” he yells over the pounding music.
His voice is strangely dangerous, inciting fear and unease. Little bubbles of excitement swell up inside me and intermingle with the fear, concocting emotions I’m unfamiliar with.
He. Is. Gorgeous.
He’s tall with short dark hair and bright hazel-green eyes. Muscles jump under tattoos covering his arms and peeking out from under his V-neck tee. The energy around him is a strange mixture of excitement and intrigue mixed with a little danger. He smells delicious, like Earthy musk and cedar wood bathed in a winter-spring.
“It’s okay,” I answer, flicking my phone off and setting it on the table. “I just wasn’t expecting anyone to be there.”
“I’m Dominic.” He holds out his hand for me to shake .
I take it. “Lasayah.”
“What?” he shouts.
“La-say-ah!” I yell at him.
“Oh, beautiful name.” He leans in to kiss my hand.
I can feel the warmth of his breath; the scents of fresh linen and pine needles engulf me.
“Nice to meet you, Lasayah.”
“My friends all call me Sayah.”
“And mine call me Dom.”
Through my disbelief at having this handsome man sitting across from me, I offer him a smile that consists of charm and a little bit of a don’t-fuck-with-me sparkle in my eyes.
He gets up and moves chairs to sit next to me. The minute his hazel eyes bore into mine, any unease slips off me like oil.
“I’m sorry to be so forward, but I noticed your tattoos. I love it when women have sleeves.”
“Thank you,” I say, twisting my arm out to see the backside of the fairy. “I love ink.”
He pulls my wrist toward him, examining the artwork. “Very nice detail.”
“You got some pretty badass ink yourself,” I return, nodding toward his arms.
“Thanks,” he says, rolling up his sleeves. “It’s the story of my life.”
I admire them. They seem to have the theme of light and dark—angels and demons, flowers and skulls, the moon and sun. Latin words and Roman numerals are interspersed throughout the pictures. I’m about to ask him what they represent when the girls arrive.
“Hey,” they both say, wry smiles painted upon their drunken faces as they slide into the chairs across from us.
“Dominic, this is Claire, and this is Anna. Guys, this is Dominic.”
“Hi, Dominic,” Claire says, holding out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Dominic takes each hand and presses his lips to the top, like someone from another time. Even the way he moves is lithe and calculated .
Claire blushes, taking a swig of her beer. “So, where are you from, Dominic?”
He scoots his tall bar chair closer to the table, leaning his ink-clad arms on the surface. “Originally, I was born in Florence, but I came to the U.S. pretty young. I lived in New York for a long time and just moved out this way a few months ago for work.”
Even though he’s yelling over the music, his deep voice is soothing, the kind of sound that could make anyone feel better even if they were dying.
“Wow, Italy?” Anna says, leaning in, interested.
“Yes,” he smiles. “I haven’t been back in a long time, though.”
“What do you do for work?” I ask, my interest in this dark stranger growing thicker with every syllable he speaks.
“I am a data analyst for a software engineering company.”
“Oh, nice,” I respond, sipping my water.
“And you’re here in the Denver area?” Claire asks, tonguing the thin black straw of her rum and coke into her mouth and sucking.
He shifts in his seat, his black shirt tight around his biceps. “I work in LoDo, but live in Windsor.”
“Dang, commuting to Denver daily must be rough, huh?” I ask.
“It’s not too bad,” he tells me, his straight white teeth glimmering. “I work nights, so I leave to work after rush hour is over, and I get home before it starts.”
“Yeah, that would make it better, I guess,” I concede, adjusting my seat so our knees are touching.
“Where are you from, and what do you do?” Leaning toward me more, he offers me a smile.
My heart flutters. His dark eyes look lethal, but then again, they are as poignant as a ballet dancer.
“I’m from here. Born and raised. And I’m in customer relations for a technology firm.”
“In Denver?”
“No, in Fort Collins.”
“Ah, so not far from me.” The way his smile dispenses with this information and his posture hold assignment, like there’s something he intends to do and now is in range to do it.
“Nope, not far,” I reply, his green eyes like gunmetal, quick-witted, sharp, and lethal. “I bought a house north of there a few years back since it was cheaper to buy there than to rent in Fort Collins.”
“Homeowner, huh?” His brows kick up in intrigue. “Boss bitch.”
A nervous laugh fights its way off my lips as I play with the condensation on the glass.
He leans in. “And are you single?”
The words, those lips—sensual yet commanding. “Yes. Divorced. With a child. Single mom.”
“Oh, okay, cool. Independent, strong single mother lady. I like that,” he states and waves the waiter over. “What would you like to drink? It’s on me.”
“Oh, I don’t drink. But thanks.”
“You drink no liquids whatsoever?” he says teasingly.
“Well, I drink virgin daiquiris.”
“There you go. I’ll take a Bourbon, top shelf, rocks, and this fine woman will take a virgin strawberry daiquiri.”
The waiter nods and scampers off.
I peek over at the girls. They are talking amongst themselves, probably realizing I’m smitten with this gorgeous dark stranger who seems interested in only me and are allowing me to flirt with him. Either that, or they’re too drunk to realize anything else happening around them.
“So, no booze then?” he asks, shifting his weight to face me better.
“Nope. I gave it up a year and a half ago.”
“Any reason you care to disclose with a handsome stranger?” He winks behind the smile.
I can’t help but feel drawn to him like he’s pulling me into some gravitational pull around just him.
“Let’s just say I had a rough patch. I beat cancer and was miserable in my marriage and then divorced him. He had a new family right away over Christmas. Booze became a way to numb, and it got out of hand .
“I was driving home drunk from Denver during the day and had an epiphany. I had already lost so much and I was about to lose the rest. If I got pulled over, I’d lose my license, which would cost me my job, followed by my home, and then ultimately, my son. So I quit. I got to the point where I wanted to feel everything again, even the bad.” I don’t know why I’m sharing this with him. It usually takes me a few dates to tell men about my personal story. Still, there is something about how he’s looking at me, making me want to tell him like the words are being pulled from me rather than me choosing to say them.
“Wow. Cancer? You okay now?”
“Yeah, I’m okay now. Just hit five years post-treatment, so I was deemed cured.”
“Congrats,” he says, taking the bourbon from the waiter and handing me the daiquiri.
“Thank you.”
“Not a problem. So,”—he takes a slow sip of his whiskey, the ice chinking against the glass—“now that you’re in the clear, what are your goals and dreams?”
A man that’s interested in my dreams and goals? That’s unique.
“I am a writer and in school. Trying to get my book published and a degree. But,” I pause and look around, bracing for the impact of the words I’m about to say, “my parents just passed away last week, and so I’m trying to get through that right now.”
“Your parents just died?”
The way his attention is anchored on me is disarming.
“Yes,” I say solemnly. “We had their balloon release earlier today.”
His manscaped brows pull together. “That is so tragic. I would say I am sorry, but I know how old that can get. I’ve lost people too. I hope you’re doing all right.”
“Thank you for not saying sorry. I don’t know how to respond to that.”
“Right,” he says, shrugging his shoulders and holding up his palms. “People don’t know what else to say, but responding can be hard.”
“Who did you lose, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Not at all. I’ve lost many people.” He pauses, and his mountain- colored eyes drift away as though chastened by loss and electing it to return to him. “All my grandparents. Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. A few friends.”
“That’s a lot.”
“Yeah, but more about you. Why’re you here?”
Taking a sip of my daiquiri, I glance at Claire and Anna. They’re clumsily dancing with one another, each shot making them tipsier.
“Because these two wanted to get me out of the house and away from the sadness. I’m trying to do what my mom would want and find the light in the dark.”
“Good for you. That’s all you can do.”
“And you? Are you single? Divorced? Didn’t I see you with a pretty blonde by the bar earlier?”
He lifts the glass to his lips, and I can’t help but notice the sensualism of his mouth again, his upper lip exquisitely sculpted. The kind of mouth that would keep me up at night.
“I am single. Almost married once. And that blonde was trying to flirt. Blondes aren’t really my type.”
“No? And what is your type?”
“Sexy, strong, independent brunettes with curves for days and as many tattoos as me.”
The delicate flickering in my stomach is making it entirely too difficult to stifle the giggles I’m suppressing. His astute gaze devours my every word, beseeching and bewildered, calming my heart and making me feel safe.
“Would you like to dance?”
“To this?” I say, inclining my head toward the band; the music is upbeat and funky. “I can’t dance like this unless I’m drunk. I probably suck at it then too, but at least when I was drunk, I didn’t care how bad I looked.” I give him a cheeky smile.
Suddenly, as if on cue, the music changes to something slower.
“How about now?” he asks, his eyes returning to mine, a devious smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
He stands and offers me his hand. Taking it, I feel a slight buzz. He doesn’t seem to notice, but I do.
The girls wink at me and say something I can’t quite hear as I follow him to the dance floor before the stage.
Holding me in the classic dance stance, he places my hand on his shoulder and holds my other one. We sway to the music, the lights dim, and for a moment, it seems as though we’re the only ones in the room. It’s easy to get lost for a fragment of time with this sexy man holding me.
As the song continues, he inches closer to me, the sweet smell of earth magick and spiced fire stirred into his fragrance. I breathe it in, letting him sway me to the beat of a soft rock song with a violin. Violin music has always spoken directly to my soul.
While we dance, I feel comforted, almost drunk-like. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the soft bubble of drunkenness, and I almost panic that my virgin daiquiri had booze in it. But I know I’m not drunk; it must be just the atmosphere. Or the man.
Suddenly, he dips me, and I’m not ready for it. I scream as I fall, the ground rising fast to get me. But he’s here, holding me, his perfect face above me. I laugh as he grins, pulling me back up.
“I’m awkward,” I say apologetically.
“Not at all,” he purrs, pulling me in closer. “Just relax. Let me move you.”
And I let him move me. He moves me in more ways than he knows.
When the song ends, he holds me still, his lips inches from mine.My breathing ceases, and suddenly, I’m nervous again.
“I like you,” he says, whiskey lingering on his breath.
“I like you too,” I return, unblinking.
“I’m taking you to dinner tomorrow night.”
“Okay,” I answer quickly, with little thought, and how easily I agree surprises me. Something fascinating about Dominic draws me in, and I want to get to know him more when we aren’t screaming words at each other.
“Let’s go back to the table and exchange numbers.”
Nodding, I let him lead me. As he pulls me by the hand, I realize how badly I had wanted him to kiss me on the dance floor now that the nerves have slipped away.
When we return to the table, the girls are all tipsy smiles.
“Have a nice dance?” Claire says, tipping her beer to her lips.
I can tell from the glitter in her eyes that she’s feeling mighty fine at the moment.
Knowing that my blushing is giving me away, I nod. “It was fantastic.”
“Okay, what’s your number?” Dominic asks, taking out his phone.
I take it, putting in my information, even spelling my name in case he forgot.When I return the phone to him, he types something, and I feel mine vibrating in my back pocket.
“Just making sure you gave me the right number,” he says, smiling, stowing his phone away again.
“Of course I did,” I say, saving his number under Dominic .
“Good,” he adds, taking another sip of his bourbon. “Well, I will let you spend time with your girls. I’ll text you tomorrow for the details of our date, okay?”
I nod with disappointment, brought up short that our little reverie is over.
He stands and pulls me to him, sliding his arms around my waist and wrapping me in a hug. I take a deep breath, inhaling his glorious scents as they unspool into the air around us. I close my eyes and allow his smell to soothe me; I feel at peace.
“It was nice to meet you, Sayah,” he whispers to the shell of my ear.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand, sending chills down my spine.
“I can’t wait to see you again.” He kisses me on the cheek and then is gone.
“Are you gonna see him again?” Claire tries to ask as I slide into my seat again, although the words are jumbled and slurred.
I giggle. “Yeah, he’s taking me out tomorrow night.”
“That’s so awesome, Say. I’m glad,” Anna says.
“Me too. ”
Things like this don’t happen to me. Especially when I’m with beauties like Claire and Anna; guys usually flock to them, not to me.
I cannot wait to see that man again.
After Dominic’s departure, I try to keep having a good time, but the rounds of beers and shots keep coming. When groping commences—a solid squeeze to my right boob by Claire—I decide it’s time to go.
Going out with the girls is always fun; however, it’s different now that I’m sober. I used to be the life of the party, laughing and being dumb, dancing and making an utter fool of myself. The last few times I went out with them, the more drunk they got, the more I felt out of place. It’s like being an outcast. Alcohol is the only drug people make you explain why you don’t use it, and having everyone ask why I’m not drinking is starting to get old. It’s why Claire is closer to Anna now.
Claire and I had been inseparable when we were each other’s drinking buddies, and Anna is that to her now.
On our way home, I feel my phone vibrate and pull it out of my pocket at the next stoplight.
It was so lovely to meet you. You are gorgeous. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.
Because both girls had passed out after merging onto the highway, I have no one to share my schoolgirl giddiness with, so I set the phone down at my side.
Pulling to a stop in Claire’s driveway, I finally text him back.
It was nice to meet you, too. I can’t wait either!
I help the girls into the house, make sure they’re lying on their sides on the couches, and head back to my car when my phone vibrates again.
Let me know when you make it home safe, okay ?
He is so sweet and handsome. The butterflies in my stomach excite me. But on the other hand, whenever I consider dating again, I worry about someone coming into my space with my child, which always tugs against those feelings of sweet new beginnings.
And there is something dark about Dominic I can’t quite put my finger on. The further I get from him, the more that coat of euphoria slides off, and I feel the darkness seeping in.