His gaze darkens with something tempting and intense, and my breathing turns shallow.
Then the girl next to him, slides her arm through his, pulling him closer to her side. The girl in an orange dress with heavily made-up eyes stares at me with icy menace.
I avert my gaze, as the cold of her glare hits me in the chest and drips into my stomach. I’m not sure if he’s hooking up with her, or if she just wishes he was, but I can clearly see she is claiming her territory.
He askedmeout, yet the pressure of guilt expands in my gut.
Another guy steps up to the bar. “Were you working last night?” The ginger haired guy has a sweet look about him, dimples in his cheeks and soft green eyes. I immediately peg him as the kind to bring a girl breakfast in bed. He wouldn’t be intimidated by my love for pink and would be a great father.
“I sure was,” I confirm, leaning my hands against the bar top, pushing my breasts up and together. His gaze drops, and a sense of feminine satisfaction snakes through me.
It's a dangerous game, this dance between attraction and power. A dance I've known since I was too young.
I drop my hands and roll my shoulders back.
Dammit, Goldie, stop trying to reel them in. We are off the sauce. On a sausage break. Going vegan. Being strong and independent.
My food related celibacy metaphors only half help. Still, I wonder if his tall lankiness translates into a matching length in his pants—
I groan, trying to ignore the rising heat in my body. My inner muscles clench, feeling empty and achy. Now I’ve sworn off men and sex, but now it’s all I can think about. All I see.
I roll back into my mantra. I am capable. I am enough. And I don’t need a man.
"No, I would have remembered a stunning girl like you.” His smile quirks up on one side, and his eyes turn glassy, focusing on me with more intensity.
“You ordered a witches brew and three rounds of fireball for you and your friends,” I say, easily rattling off his drink order in a flat tone. I remember people. I learned a while ago that people love to be noticed and remembered. We all want to be seen, so I see as many people as possible.
“Wow.” He leans an arm on the counter and comes so close I can smell his earthy cologne. “How did I not remember a stunning beauty like you? Let me buyyoua drink.”
His gaze is nearly scorching my skin now, and I can’t decide if I’m flattered or unnerved. I shoot a look at Snow who is watching closely, making me self-conscious.
“How about we stick with the norm, and I getyoua drink, seeing as I’m at work?” This is the seventh offer I’ve had for a drink in the last two hours. While it’s normal for people to get drunk, happy, and want the bartender to join in with their festivities, this is an aggressive pace.
He leans in and reaches across until his fingers touch mine. Eyes fluttering shut, his body shudders before he meets my gaze again. “If I don’t get to buy you a drink, beautiful, I think I might die.”
The laugh that escapes me is more a nervous titter. That’s. . . a lot.
Part of me loves it, the rest of me is completely thrown. Seriously, did someone send a memo out to all the men to test my resolve? I feel like someone must be nearby filming me to watch me squirm.
“Goldie, we are out of olives,” Red says, butting in, while forcibly grabbing my shoulders and pushing me off to the side. “How can I help ya out?” she asks the ginger haired guy, forcing his attention on her.
It’s a total ploy to give me an exit. She and Cinder have been bailing me out all night. I’m starting to feel shitty about the workload they are taking on in my stead. I’ll need to bake them something to make up for this bizarro night.
“Should I come with you?” Snow asks quietly, but I need a moment to myself.
Strange. I love being in the throng of people. But all this attention feels. . . off.
“No, it’s okay. I’ll be right back.” I turn to head to the back storage room.
Why is the universe so cruel and ironic to keep throwing interested dudes at me when I don’t want the attention? It feels like an unwelcome spotlight, resurrecting the ghosts of days I thought were long behind me.
As I walk toward the backroom, eyeballs cover me like cling wrap. Some are slathering me with sexually charged interest, but a number hold the same spite as the girl in the orange dress. It’s not just men who’ve noticed me, the women in the bar have noticed the men noticing me.
Say that five times fast.
“I am beautiful, I am capable, I am enough, I don’t need a man,” I mutter under my breath. I clung to mantras I crafted in those lonely high school years, a shield against the hurtful whispers and the judging eyes.
Strangely enough, I wish the men tonight would treat me more like my dickwad neighbor. I instantly feel an itch under my skin again at the thought that he doesn’t like me.
