Page 101 of Stranger to Love

The conversation at the table took a surreal turn as Carrie leaned forward, her "Dr. Carter" mask replaced by a version of herself that was terrifyingly charming. She started asking Adrian about his role as a finance manager, and within seconds, they were deep in the weeds of market trends and fiscal quarters.

Adrian was clearly lapsing into "impressed mode," leaning in and gesturing with his pint, while Carrie listened with a polite, razor-sharp focus that made her look like she was presiding over a boardroom.

Across the table, Mia was having a physical breakdown. She was staring at me, her eyes wider than the rim of her wine glass. She kept making frantic, silent gestures—pointing at Carrie’s hand, which hasn't moved an inch from my thigh, and then back at me with an expression that said: What the actual fuck is happening? Are you dating your lecturer? Is this real life?

I kept my face a mask of bored indifference, sipping my rum and coke and pretending I had no idea what her silent mime act meant. I even offered her a confused shrug, which earned me a middle finger under the edge of the table.

Finally, Mia gave up on the telepathy. She huffed, pulled out her phone, and started typing with a vengeance. A second later, my pocket buzzed.

I pulled my phone out, shielding the screen from Carrie’s peripheral vision.

Mia: Bitch, when are you going to tell me how you went from being on your knees for this woman to fucking dating her?

I choked on my drink, a stray ice cube hitting the back of my throat. I let out a jagged cough, and the hand on my thigh tightened instantly.

"Are you alright, darling?" Carrie asked, her voice smooth and maternal, yet it carried that dark, private undertone that told me she knew exactly what was happening. She didn't even break eye contact with Adrian as she asked.

"Fine," I rasped, wiping my mouth. "Just... went down the wrong way."

I glanced at the screen again. Mia was staring at me, her phone still in her hand, waiting for the confession. I looked at Carrie, who was currently telling Adrian that his firm’s approach to risk management was "optimistic at best," and then back at my phone.

How did I even fucking explain this? How did I tell her that I was not just dating her, but that I was currently being claimed in a dive bar by a woman who met my parents an hour ago?

I started typing back, my thumbs shaking.

Alex: Shut the fuck up. I’ll tell you when I’m not two seconds away from being murdered for breathing the wrong way. Just play it cool.

I looked up, and Mia was already typing again, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

Mia: Too late. I'm calling her Dr. Vixen to her face before the night is over.

An hour slipped by in a blur of low-frequency bass and the growing heat of the crowd. The "Ice Queen" hadn’t just thawed; she’d transformed into a magnetic, commanding presence that seemed to pull the very air toward our corner of the booth. Fuck, she was incredible.

Adrian and Mia returned from the bar, balancing a fresh round of drinks and a tray of dark, ominous-looking shots. I was feeling happy drunk and I was going to cut myself off after this one otherwise uni tomorrow was out of the fucking question. In a move that was purely tactical, Mia nudged Adrian out of the way, swapping seats so she was sitting directly across from me, her eyes gleaming with drunken curiosity. Fuck’s sake.

I found myself naturally gravitating toward Carrie, leaning into her side until there was no daylight left between us. Carrie’s hand had migrated from my thigh to wrap firmly around my waist, pulling me back against her. It was a comfortable, heavy weight that made me feel anchored, stupid tingles filled my chest and I couldn’t seem to pull away; I didn't fucking want to. Instead, I rested my own hand on her thigh, my fingers tracing the expensive fabric of her dress. It was a bold move, especially with Mia watching, but I was past caring. This woman was mine as much as I was hers.

"Alright, enough finance talk," Mia announced, sliding the shots toward us. "To a night that turned out way more interesting than I expected."

We took the shots without a second's hesitation. Fucking disgusting. I expected Carrie to grimace at the cheap tequila, but she tossed it back with a practiced, effortless cool that made my heart skip a beat. She didn't even reach for a chaser. I bit my lip as I placed my glass down; she was so fucking hot.

As the burning heat of the shot settled in my chest, the noise of the bar seemed to fade into the background. Carrie leaned down, her lips brushing the shell of my ear, her breath hot and smelling faintly of expensive whiskey and lime.

"Are you having a good time, darling?" she whispered.

The vibrations of her voice traveled straight down my spine. I looked up at her, finding her eyes dark and focused entirely on me, ignoring the chaos of the bar and the prying eyes of Mia.

"Yeah," I rasped, my hand tightening slightly on her leg. "I am. Surprisingly."

"Good," she murmured, her thumb tracing a slow, possessive line along my ribs. "Because I’ve been very patient, Alex. But watching you under these lights... it’s making it very difficult to maintain my professional distance."

Fuck, heat pooled low and I had to look away from her.

Across the table, Mia was pretending to talk to Adrian, but her eyes were glued to us. She leaned in, her voice hushed but excited. "So, Lex... I think it's time for a girl's trip to the bathroom. Don't you?"

Carrie’s grip on me didn't loosen. She looked at Mia, then back at me, an amused challenge in her eyes. She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a low, velvet thread that barely carried over the music. "Take off those tights for me, darling."

I stared at her, my eyes widening. My heart skipped a beat, then thudded violently against my ribs. Was she actually fucking serious? She didn’t blink; she just tilted her head slightly, a silent, imperious look that said she wasn't in the habit of repeating herself.