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He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t move. I force myself to look at my father and smile.
“Hey, Dad.”
But when I glance back at the stranger, he’s looking at the screen on my lap, staring at the design I’ve drawn. I quickly lock the device and stand. My dad pulls me into his arms and presses a kiss on the top of my head. He’s always been affectionate, which is rather strange for a man who looks as scary as he does. With tattoos covering his arms and neck, and even a few on his hands, he gives off an air of danger.
“This is a good friend of mine from Ireland. He’s going to be staying here for the party tonight,” Dad tells me as he turns to look at the stranger. “Sully, this is the princess of the Kovenant.” Dad is so proud of saying those words. He introduces me like that to everyone and anyone who’ll listen.
I force myself to meet the intense stare of this man. Sully is certainly no boy. He must be in his mid-twenties at least. He looks much older than the young prospects who are hoping to patch into the club. He’s got dark stubble on his jaw, as if he hasn’t shaved in a few days. His hair is messy with soft curls at the nape of his neck.
I’ve seen handsome men before. Some are on posters stuck on my wall, mainly from rock bands of the eighties because my father introduced me to that genre of music. But this stranger is better looking than all those guys. He also looks like he’s used to being stared at, but he’s not boasting by being loud and annoying. He’s not smiling, but he definitely doesn’t seem bothered that I’m watching him.
He doesn’t meet my eyes for a long while, but when he does, I see it. There’s a darkness that seems to flicker in the orbs looking at me. He doesn’t smile, only offers me a nod in greeting, and I’m disappointed I can’t hear his accent. My father may be Irish, but he’s lived here most of his life, so he doesn’t have the lilt I’ve only ever heard on television.
“I need you to go to your room,” my father whispers in my ear. “I’ll call you when we’re done and you can come down for pizza with the rest of the youngsters.”
Since I was a child, Dad has always kept me at arm's length when it comes to the serious matters within the club. I am allowed in the bar area, but when there are meetings, or if something important is happening, I’m meant to stay in the main house. This time, it seems, it’s no different.
“Okay.” I drag the word out in frustration, and I’m pretty sure I notice a hint of a smile on the stranger’s face. It’s so small, I would have missed it if I wasn’t staring at his lips.
I’ve never really had a crush on any of the boys at school, but this is no boy. Sully’s tall, quiet, and dangerous, and I can’t stop my heart from slamming against my ribs when he looks directly at me. His eyes seem to look right through me, as if he’s seeing my soul.
As I make my way out of the bar, I glance over my shoulder one last time. If he’s from Ireland, he may not be around for long, and I might never see him again. One last look. That’s all I need. But it’s the biggest mistake because he smiles back at me, and at that moment, I know I’ll never forget the handsome stranger who stole my teenage heart.
When I get to my bedroom, I shut the door and flop onto my bed with my iPad beside me. My father doesn’t know I listen in on his meetings. I do it because I want to make sure I know what’s going on. If he’s in danger, I have to know.
Enemies of the club are always threatening his life, so if he’s walking into a situation where he could be hurt, I’d rather know beforehand. I’ve spent my short life preparing for the worst. I don’t believe in fairy tales, thinking that happy ever afters happen. They don’t. Stories with happy endings are nothing but pure fiction.
Even though I try my best to focus on the sketch on the screen, I can’t. All I can think about is the man downstairs. Sully. I whisper his name out loud, just once. And I decide I like the way it tastes on my lips. On my tongue.
I roll over onto my back and stare at the ceiling. I’ve ingrained the image of him in my mind. It’s as if my brain took a snapshot, a forever photo, so I’ll never forget what he looks like. I don’t want to forget. Perhaps he’s my first real crush.
