3. LYRA #3
Leaning forward, I rest my elbow against the table as I shamelessly continue taking him in. “I’m observing.”
“I see. Dare I ask what kind of observations you’ve been making?”
I purse my lips. “Oh, I don’t know if you can handle them.”
He leans forward, bringing himself closer to me as he mimics my position. “Try me.”
Everything flutters, and I grin as I lean back in my chair, pretending to think it over, but really, I’ve been coming up with this list since the moment I dropped to my knees before him on my bar. “Mysterious. Socially concerning. Probably has several bodies buried somewhere remote.”
Hunter takes a slow sip of whiskey. “Only several?”
The casual response catches me so off guard that I choke on my drink, but he just watches me with amusement, not even attempting to help the coughing mess he just turned me into. “You’re an asshole,” I wheeze, laughing around my sputtering.
Hunter shrugs his shoulders, a sly grin resting on his lips as he reaches for his whiskey and takes another sip. “You started profiling me first.”
“Fair.”
A smirk tugs at his mouth as he places his glass down. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You spend all night reading people behind a bar. What do your notes say about yourself?”
Well shit. That catches me more off guard than the pile of bodies he joked about, and honestly, I don’t know this guy nearly enough to give a serious answer, so I just shrug the same way he had. “Oh, I’m deeply unsettling.”
“I noticed.”
I grin. “And yet here you are.”
His eyes lock onto mine, holding me captive with his stare alone. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for punishment.”
God, this man is trouble.
“So what’s your deal?” I ask, dragging my attention away from the way his forearms flex against the table. “You secretly married? Running from the mafia? Emotionally unavailable?”
“Something like that.”
The way he says it makes it impossible to tell if he’s kidding, and I lean back, watching him closely, trying to figure out who he truly is, because honestly, he’s giving me nothing at all. But I suppose the same could be said for me. All I know is that the mystery somehow makes me like him more.
Time seems to disappear. One drink turns into two, which quickly becomes three.
The conversation flows. I tell him all about my bar and life, and while Hunter doesn’t talk much about himself, I’m starting to piece him together.
He’s full of dry humor and sharp intelligence, but he also has moments of wild possessiveness that absolutely should not be attractive.
It’s like he’s weaving a web around me, but I can’t bring myself to pull away.
My gaze sails over him, starting to wonder just how much longer it will be until he finally stands, grabs my ass, and demands I go home with him, when his phone buzzes against the table.
Both our eyes flick toward it, and for the first time all night, something cracks through that calm expression. It’s tiny, barely noticeable, but there’s no denying that it’s there. The question is: what is it? Annoyance? Frustration?
Hunter picks up the phone, reading the message silently before letting out a quiet breath, and for a brief second, I can’t help but wonder if this is some other woman taking him away from me, because what else could make sense?
It’s got to be at least four in the morning.
Only a wife or a booty call would be texting at this time.
His eyes lift to mine, a deep regret flashing in his stare. “Sorry, Savage,” he says, already reaching for his wallet. “Duty calls. Don’t take it personally.”
He tosses cash onto the table before standing, and I blink, staring up at him. “Wait—what?”
Hunter winks, and before my jaw even has a second to drop, he turns and walks away. Just like that. No explanation. No hesitation. No promise to call me later, not that I even got a chance to get his number.
Nothing. Just gone to indulge in a better offer.
Asshole.
I stare after him in complete disbelief as he disappears through the patio entrance without looking back even once.
What the actual fuck? Don’t take it personally?
What other way am I supposed to take it?
Hunter can absolutely get fucked. In fact, he can fuck all the way off.
Because no man gets to spend hours staring at me like I’m the second coming, spend the night eye-fucking me, call me Savage in that stupid deep voice, and then leave me sitting alone in a bar like some pathetic blind date he got bored with. I didn’t even get to come.
Asshole. Screw him.
Silence settles around me, rage curling through my chest, pulsing through my veins like poison. I should have known better than to ignore all those red flags. Hell, I should have known better than to waste my night on the kind of man who brags about how loud he’s going to make a woman scream.
God, I’m such an idiot.
Grabbing my drink, I aggressively throw back what’s left before standing and taking off the same way Hunter left, heading straight back to Black Velvet. I guess Marcus and Dean will get to walk me to my car after all.