Page 30 of Stranger to Love

“That’s the one,” she murmured. Her voice dripped down my spine. When she took the glass, her fingers deliberately slid across mine. “I’m glad the place isn't full of children tonight.”

“It’s been a torturous few weeks,” I smirked, leaning closer.

I was feeling brazen, fuelled by the vodka. I ignored the forming queue, crossing my arms confidently over the bar. “I’ve not seen you in here before. I definitely would have noticed you.”

She tried to hide a small smile, then reached up and slowly tucked a stray strand of hair from my ponytail behind my ear. Her fingers lingered. It was an overtly powerful gesture from a woman who knew she held all the cards. Her eyes were a striking, dark blue up close. We were practically a breath apart.

Suddenly, Mia rang the last-call bell. Jeans’ friends bustled over, dragging her toward the dance floor for one final song. She gave me a lingering look over her shoulder as she disappeared into the crowd. Damn. Missed my chance.

I threw myself into serving the last drunks, and slowly we began cleaning down before everyone was kicked out. Mia was whispering with some bearded guy as she leaned over the bar. He slid his hand down her arm as she grinned, then he went back to the men he was with, and they left the bar.

I raised an eyebrow at Mia, who grinned successfully. She hip-bumped me as she picked up the cleaning spray and whisper-shouted, “Oh, I hope I can’t walk tomorrow.”

I burst out laughing. "I am very happy for you,” I said with an eye roll.

Mia pointedly looked over at Jeans, who was being pulled up the stairs and out of the club by her friends. She looked back at to me, her shoulders sinking slightly. Fuck, I really had missed my chance. Urgh, well, that was how it went sometimes. Mia looked at me sympathetically, and I just shrugged—never mind.

At 1:30 a.m., the house lights flicked on. Giddy and slightly dizzy from the shots and a lack of food, I walked out onto the slick, wet street with Mia.

I froze on the spot.

Across the road, leaning against her dark Mercedes with her arms folded, was Dr. Carter. In her dark trench coat, she looked simultaneously like she belonged in a high-end lounge and like a severe, striking shadow under the streetlights.

She actually came.

Mia squealed, whispering, "Maybe you will get laid tonight," before running off with a guy from the club. He was nice, looked older and like some finance dude who would actually give her a good night, unlike Sam.

Before I could cross the street, a hand caught my arm. I flinched, but it was Jeans. She glided her hand down my arm without saying anything and then took my hand. I just let her do whatever the fuck she wanted. She softly opened my palm and wrote her number on it. Fuck me. First of all—who brought a pen with them when they were clubbing? Older women, that was who. Second of all, she was bold as fuck, and I loved it.

Then my stomach swooped as, after finishing writing, she yanked my hand forward, captured my waist, and kissed me deeply. Holy fucking shit. Damn, she was a good kisser. It only lasted a couple of seconds, but whoosh, my insides dipped and twisted like they should when a kiss was that good. She tasted like our high-range wine and mint.

When she pulled back, she gave me a slow smirk and walked away into the night.

I stood dazed for a second, then looked across the street. Dr. Carter was tracking Jeans with her eyes, looking absolutely furious. Her gaze snapped back to me, lethal and impatient.

I swallowed, still tasting the wine on my lips, and crossed the asphalt. Stopping way too close to her, I grinned. “Good morning, Dr. Carter.”

She rolled her eyes. “Get in the car, Alex.”

She strode past me—god, those long legs—and threw the passenger door open. I bit my lip, sending her a blatant wink. “Such a gentlewoman.”

She slammed the door shut so hard I feared for my limbs.

She took off her trench coat, hung it in the back, and slid into the driver's seat. She was wearing a tailored pencil skirt and a dark red blouse. She looked like Satan herself, and my God, was I a sinner. She aggressively accelerated down the road, her thumb tapping a tense, furious rhythm on the steering wheel.

The motion of the car combined with the vodka made my stomach pitch. “Dr. Carter?”

“Alex,” she drawled, already annoyed.

I turned in the seat, pulling one leg up onto the leather. “Can we go through a drive-through?”

“No,” she answered immediately.

“Oh, come on. Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?” I puffed out my bottom lip, giving her the widest-eyed pout I could muster.