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Logically, I know I have no reason to walk up to Willow and attempt to start a conversation with her. I also know she has every reason to ignore me and continue her night with her friends, except that’s not reason enough to get me to turn around and head back upstairs. In fact, catching sight of her once—watching her dance with some nameless idiot—is enough to get me to throw caution and logic out the window and walk right up to where she is.
My eyes land on her as I walk along the bar, fortunately standing right where I saw her last, talking to one of her friends. The other girl she is with, the blonde, is nowhere in sight, and my gaze drops to Willow’s plastic cup, seeing that her drink, conveniently for me, is running low.
She hasn’t spotted me yet, turned away from me as she chats with her friend, so I lick my teeth as I stand beside her at the bar, catching her friend’s attention. She stops talking and before Willow can turn around to see who her friend is looking at, I lean toward her and say, “Let me buy you a drink.”
Willow, for the briefest second, tenses up before she turns around. I don’t move, which pushes us closer together when she turns, and despite there being hundreds of people in this room, I can easily smell her familiar apple scent. It’s intoxicating and I have to actively stop myself from inhaling deeply like a fucking freak, and instead keep my expression cool and neutral as Willow slowly lifts her gaze to lock her green eyes with my dark brown ones.
There’s a mild glaze over her eyes and a pink flush on her cheeks, telling me she’s not entirely sober, looking up at me in surprise before her mouth curves up in an easygoing smile. The sight of it has an iron fist wrapping around my heart, squeezing when her dimples pop into view. She’s much shorter than me, her chest just inches away from my torso, and I’m not sure if it’s the drums of the song that is beating wildly in my chest, or my own heart.
“What’re you doing here?” Willow asks. Her words aren’t too slurred together, and she smiles through them.
I feel the corners of my mouth twitching, wanting to smile. “A friend of mine owns this club.”
Willow snorts, rolling her eyes. “Of course, he does,” she says with a nod, like she wouldn’t expect anything less than for me to be friends with people who own places like these. She narrows her eyes, then asks, “So, would you actually bebuyingme a drink, or do you get it for free around here?”
I let a small smirk slip through. “I’d be buying it. I like to support my friend’s business.”
Through the deafening music, I still manage to hear Willow’s acknowledging hum, as if I’m tuned into her solely, as she nods approvingly. But then she shakes her head and says, “Thank you for the offer, but I don’t think you should buy—”
“I think what she means to say is she’d love one,” her friend interrupts with a grin, and maybe it’s a trick of the light but I swear Willow’s cheeks darken as she looks at her friend over her shoulder. The brunette just grins before introducing herself, “I’m Clare.”
My smirk widens just a little at her intervention as I dip my chin. “Reed,” I say before nodding at her, “What’re you having?”
Clare happily tells me her and Willow’s drink orders, and I flag down the bartender, who immediately comes over and begins working on the drinks after I tell him the type. Then Clare conveniently busies herself on her phone, leaning against the bar, and when Willow looks at me again, I see the way she gazes at me head to toe. She doesn’t hide her perusal, and my blood pumps, wanting to know what’s going through her mind.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you in anything other than your football uniform,” she finally comments, head tilting as her gaze meets mine.
I lean my elbow against the bar, arching an eyebrow as I gaze down at her. “You saw me in a suit at the charity event,” I remind her.
She grins and it fucking knocks the wind out of my lungs unexpectedly. “Yeah, but you looked so stiff.” She giggles at my offended expression. “Like, more stiff than usual.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t lookstiffnow?”
Her grin remains and it lights up her entire face, her features soft and her eyes bright. My pulse races the longer I stare at her, and I can’t remember the last time a woman did that to me. She smiles in a way that deepens her dimples and makes her eyes squint as she brings up her hand, bringing her thumb and index finger together. “Just a tiny bit,” Willow giggles. “Do you even know how to relax?”
“I’m relaxed right now.”
That gets another laugh out of her, and I’m filled with this primal urge to tell everyone in the room to shut the fuck up simply so I can listen to her laugh clearly and commit the sound to memory. She hasn’t laughed like that in front of me, hasn’t given me this carefree, easygoing smile before, either. And I’m well aware she’s effortlessly gifting me these smiles, these laughs, because she’s not completely sober, and maybe I don’t completely deserve them, but I’ll take them anyway. Even if they’re not mine to take.
“You most definitely arenot,” Willow says with a shake of her head. Then she adds seriously, “You should try yoga. That’ll help.”
“Do you do yoga?” I ask casually, watching as she takes a sip of her newly received drink. It takes all my willpower not to stare at the way her lips close around the straw.
Willow nods, smiling. “I do.”
“Then you can teach me.”
Her lips part slightly, the little black straw pressed against her bottom one. Her front brushes against mine and fire explodes at the barely-there contact. With a slight tilt of her head, she asks, “Are you trying to get me alone, Reed?”
Her boldness stirs my cock, tightening against the zipper of my jeans. “And… if I am?” I ask slowly, gaze dropping to her lips, pink and begging to be kissed.
Willow’s own gaze is locked on my mouth, absently playing with her straw as she says, “I’d say you probably shouldn’t. It would just complicate things.”
Fuck. She’s right. Still, it doesn’t stop me from rumbling, “It doesn’t have to.”
“Easier said than done.”
I let out a breath, not wanting to push her, despite the urge I have to pull her in, pull her close. I don’t know what the fuck has come over me—I blame the few beers I had—but I find myself offering, “Let me give you and your friends a ride home, at least.”
