“I know the type.”She said it without edge, just matter-of-fact, and somehow that was worse than if she’d tried to insult me.She’d put me in a category and was watching to see if I’d prove her wrong or right.
“Willa,” she said, before I could decide how to respond.Just the name, nothing attached to it.
“Nitro.”
She nodded, like she’d already known.Maybe she had.My face was known around here -- around most places in a three-state radius, if I was being honest.Being part of the Reckless Kings had a way of making you visible whether you wanted it or not.
“Why are you here, Willa?”I asked.
“Someone invited me.”
“Someone I know?”
“Probably.”She wasn’t going to give me more than that, and she wasn’t apologetic about it.She just looked at me with those careful eyes and waited to see what I’d do with the nothing she was handing me.
Most women, when they realized they had my attention, changed.Something softened, or something sharpened in a different direction -- the performance of being worth wanting.Willa didn’t perform.She stood there exactly as she had before I crossed the room.
I waited, watching her eyes, to see if she’d retreat or recalibrate.She didn’t do either.Her chin came up by maybe half an inch, that small involuntary tell, and she kept her gaze on mine.
“You’re not what I expected,” I said.
“You didn’t know I existed ten minutes ago.”
“No,” I agreed.“But I’ve been at enough of these parties to have expectations.”I let my gaze move over her face -- slow, unhurried.“You don’t fit any of them.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was one.”
The music was still too loud for comfort, the bass a constant pressure at the base of my skull, but I’d stopped noticing the rest of the room.It had narrowed down to the small space between us and the precise way she was holding herself -- not stiff, not uncomfortable, just contained.Everything about her was contained, and I found myself wanting to find the one thing that would undo it.
I reached out and touched her wrist.Just my thumb, pressing lightly to the inside where her pulse ran close to the surface.A question more than a move.She went very still, not pulling away, and I felt it -- the quick, involuntary jump of her heartbeat against my skin.
She didn’t look down at my hand.She kept her gaze on my face, which told me she’d already decided how she was going to handle this, and looking down would be acknowledging something she wasn’t ready to concede.
I leaned in close, angling my head so my mouth was near her ear.“You’ve been deciding since I walked over here whether you’re going to let this go anywhere,” I said quietly.“I figure you’re about halfway to a decision.”
She didn’t pull away.She also didn’t answer immediately, which meant she was listening instead of reflexively denying it, which meant I was right.
“And if I decide no?”she said.Her voice was steady, but I was still close enough to catch the slight unevenness in her breath.
“Then I go get another drink and we both go on with our nights.”
“Just like that.”
“Just like that.”I pulled back enough to read her face.“I’m not interested in convincing you of anything you don’t already want.That’s not the game I play.”
She studied me for a moment -- that same careful, cataloguing look she’d been using on everything in the room.I let her look.I had nothing to hide and nothing to perform.What she saw was what I was: a man who found her interesting and was willing to say so plainly.
“What game do you play?”she asked.
“Honest ones.”I paused.“When possible.”
From her expression, I could tell the wall had come down an inch or two.Enough to let something through without fully opening the door.
“The rest of the club is like this?”she asked.“This direct?”
“Some of them.I’m better at it than most.”
