Page 8 of Sterling Stone

He chuckles, thankfully, shaking his head. Then he surprises me by holding out his palm.

“Shall we, then?”

“Now?” My voice cracks unaccountably, when I propositioned him.

“It is the future,” he teases, noting only the seconds that moved time forward. He slips off his stool and steps back, giving me space to slide off mine.

“Here?” I choke next, taking his hand. The bar is empty other than Kodiak, the bartender behind the counter, looking at his phone.

“You said this one is your favorite.”

I still don’t register what the song is, but I step closer to him, like I’m pulled by an invisible string, needing to be woven into the material of whoever he is.

Samson. We should exchange real names, and yet I’m loving the anonymity. He already knows so much about me.

With his hand notched at my hip and the other holding mine near his heart, which races to match the beat of mine, we sway to a song moving a little too fast, pulsing with a beat that doesn’t coordinate with the rhythm he sets.

And yet, I don’t want to move any faster than this moment.

3

[Stone]

She was utterly fascinating. And I was feeling a bit flattered that she pulled out that I love this song comment in order to prolong our night. Not that I was in a rush to stop talking to her or get back to my room alone. I could have sat at the bar all night, but I felt the weight of the bartender’s eyes on us, possibly wanting to close up the empty bar.

Then she proposed we dance, and although I sensed she was joking, I decided why not?

It’s been a long time since someone captured my attention and genuinely appeared to want mine in return.

We dance to some song where I wasn’t even listening to the lyrics because I was so enthralled by how well my hand fit on the edge of her hip and how right her hand felt in mine against my chest.

She’d been on my mind since parting ways in the hotel. I’d continued to wonder if I’d missed out on an opportunity to get to know her better while also wondering what attracted me so easily to her.

Sitting next to her at this bar, intending to pass the time before my brother’s fight, had been complete happenstance. I’m not a man who puts much stock in Fate, or signs, or any of that mystical crap. But something put me in this bar tonight, in that exact seat, at the exact moment a guy wouldn’t take a hint and leave her alone.

I don’t know what it was. Instinct, training, or something older and deeper, but the second her voice rang too high, and she called me Samson, something in me locked into place. Protective. Automatic. Like stepping toward her was the only choice that made sense.

Then she started talking to me, telling me all about herself. She was easy to listen to. Her enthusiasm for art. Her excitement to share her talent with kids. The depth in her voice sounding like satin sheets and moonlight intrigue. I could have listened to her all night.

She could have brushed me off earlier, once that other guy took the hint. Instead, those bright eyes narrowed in, and I was drawn to her, feeling relief that the attraction between us, while unexplained, might be mutual. Like she’d been waiting to sit beside me as much as I’d been wanting to sit beside her without realizing it.

And I still didn’t know her name.

“So, if I’m Samson, does that make you Delilah?”

Her laugh is so quick and sharp. “Something like that. But that poor woman turned to stone.”

“That was Lot’s wife,” I correct. “And she turned to salt for looking back.”

“Forgive me. My biblical studies are a bit rusty.” Her smile is easy, those plump lips spreading wide.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” I admit.

Faith, skin color, creed—I don’t judge people by any of it. I judge by what they do and why they do it. People can be good, bad, lost, and everything in between. People have situations thrust upon them. Some break the law to survive, not out of malice. A mother stealing formula to feed her hungry baby—the law calls it theft, but I can’t see her as a criminal in the same way I see someone who preys on others for gain. The system isn’t blind, but it’s flawed. Racism, bias, and inequal opportunity. All of it shapes who ends up on the wrong side of the law. My job is to enforce the rules, yes, but my judgment doesn’t stop there. I weigh intent, necessity, and circumstances. Some people are wayward because the world forced them to be. Others because they chose it. It’s not always easy to tell the difference. But I try.

“Who was Delilah again?”

“She was a woman who worked in the sex industry,” I state, careful to be respectful.