His expression turns cold. “You’re right, you’re not. So I think you should mind your damn business.”
Maybe he’s right. This isn’t the first time I’ve inserted myself into a problem that doesn’t involve me. And I’m sure it won’t be the last time I do. I can’t help it. It’s who and how I am. Being the only son to a woman who has taught me to respect women, and having a sister myself, guys like Trent trigger me.
As I walk away, I hear Trent mutter something snarky under his breath, but I ignore it, refusing to pay him any mind. Not that I could even if I wanted to as my vision tunnels to a private booth a few feet away from where I now stand.
My brain tries to signal my body to move, but I remain still with my feet glued to the floor.
Walk, damn it. You don’t need to try to fix everything and everyone around you. Just keep moving.
I take a step forward.
There you go.
And another. This one is more of a leap forward, but it’s still a step in the right direction.
Good. That’s it, keep going.Walk past the man yelping in pain from what appears to be a dancer sinking her teeth into said man’s arm.
Shit.
And just like that, I’m not walking anymore. My movements are caught between a skip and slow jog.
Keep. Fucking. Walking.I internally scold myself, already seeing the writing on the wall. I’m not leaving here. Not yet. Not when the closer I get to this sleazebag, who clearly needs a crashcourse in not only basic gentleman’s club etiquette but consent, won’t take his hands off the dancer despite her telling him to repeatedly.
Security steps in, separating them. But she’s not done. Now that her mouth isn’t latched onto him in self-defense, she uses it to her full advantage, yelling a long stream of obscenities his way.
If I thought Trent was smug, this guy somehow takes the cake. Here he is being yelled at while being held back by security, and he has a fucking grin on his face, seemingly unfazed.
I’m not sure what possesses me to move even closer than I already am, but before I know it, I’ve fully immersed myself into the chaos, standing by the dancer’s side, as if on standby, ready and willing to step in if push comes to shove.
It’s not until she stops yelling at him, when she redirects her attention to me, that I’m able to get a good look at her. A flutter knocks at my chest as her ocean eyes peer up at me. There’s no denying how striking the shade of blue is. Even more so against her warm, naturally sun-kissed skin and onyx-colored hair. She’s stunning.Breathtaking.I’m unable to look away. Not only because of her undeniable beauty, but from the contrast between her stare and her actions.
In front of me stands a woman who exudes confidence. Yet, the longer our gazes remain on one another’s, the more I see something that most would likely overlook.
Sadness. An abundance of it. Masking itself as anger that, if I had to guess, is working overtime to keep the tears she wants to cry at bay.
Others may not notice it. But I do.
It’s easy to spot in others what you yourself work tirelessly to hide.
I know she’s not a damsel in distress. She’s made that abundantly clear. Still, I can’t ignore this sudden urge I have toprotect her. And judging by the sense of calm that has noticeably spread over this mystery woman’s entire body now that I’ve made my presence known, I think – I hope – that she’s okay with that.
One second bleeds into another, each one more painstaking than the last, as I stand with bated breath, waiting for her to signal to me that she does in fact need me to do or say something –anything– to assist her.
Finally, she inches closer, unknowingly giving me the go ahead I needed as well as putting me out of my misery.
Adrenaline runs rampant in my veins as I remain idle under her appraising stare.
In the hopes that I’m not reading her body language incorrectly, I decide to extend my hand, offering it to her with an open and ready palm, hoping – pathetic as it may be – that she takes it.
Without hesitation, she accepts, threading her fingers with mine.
Here I was just hours before trying to convince the group chat that I have game. Now, I’m not too sure I do, since the contact alone is enough to make my knees buckle.
With our hands connected, the already menial space between us becomes nonexistent as she eliminates it.
And where sadness held her gaze hostage, lust scurries to the surface, as a sultry, feminine voice emerges. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for someone like you,” she coos with palpable intrigue.
It’s contagious.
