Page 9 of Josephine and Clay

I swallow, because he’s right, and the worst part is… I don’t know if I’ve done anything to make that obvious, or if he’s just that good at reading people.

“Maybe I just don’t usually meet people worth staying for,” I counter, keeping my tone even.

His eyes flicker, joy passing through them. “That so?”

“Mm hm.”

“And I made the cut?”

I tilt my head slightly, letting my gaze drag over him in a way that’s a little more intentional this time.

He’s unfair.

That’s the only word for it.

Tall in a way that makes you feel it even when he’s sitting. Broad shoulders under a worn shirt that stretches just enough to hint at muscle without trying too hard. Hands that look rough. Calloused, capable, like they’ve spent more time working than sitting still.

And that face…

Sharp. Confident. A little dangerous. The kind of man you know better than to trust, but the kind you want anyway.

My stomach tightens. “You’re interesting.”

His smile deepens. “Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Awareness seeps through me. I feel it in the way my fingers tighten slightly around my glass. In the way I’m suddenly conscious of how close he is, of the heat coming off him, of the way his knee brushes mine under the bar like it’s nothing.

“You’re not staying in town,” I say, needing to ground this in reality.

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Good.”

That surprises him. I can tell by the slight lift of his brows. “Good?”

I nod. “I’m not interested in anything complicated.”

“Yeah,” he says with sparkling eyes. “Me neither.”

I set my glass down, suddenly done with it. Done pretending I’m still debating this.

His gaze tracks the movement. “You leaving?”

I meet his eyes.

My heart's beating too fast.

This is reckless, so unlike me, and exactly the kind of thing I’ve spent years avoiding.

“Yeah,” I say.

I slide off the stool.

He stands immediately, like it’s instinct, like there was never a question of whether he’d follow.