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He shrugs his left shoulder before bringing the drink to his lips.
I become mesmerized just watching how his throat moves when he swallows.
Snap out of it, Claire.
Jesus, he’s like a walking sex toy.
“If you say so. I guess I wouldn’t remember.”
Asshole.
Swallowing my anger, I lean an inch closer. It’s hardly noticeable, but I certainly notice when his spine stiffens. “Believe me, Mr. Williams. If you had sex with me, you’d remember.”
His fingers clench around his glass as he places it back on the bar.
He tilts his head. “Debatable.”
I resist the urge to shake him.
“Why are you here?”
His eyes wander from me to my wine and back again. “I think it’s the same reason you’re here.”
“To drown your sorrows?”
Shut up, Claire.
Shut the fuck up.
He frowns, a line forming between his brows. In the dim light of the bar, his eyes are almost black.
“Where’s your son?” I ask before he can comment on all my many sorrows. His stare burns a hole in the side of my face.
More silence.
“You told me when we met,” I explain.
I can’t believe he doesn’t remember.
“With his aunt and uncle. You’ll meet them. Sam is the liaison police officer for the shelter.”
Oh.
“It’s a real family affair you’ve got going on over there, huh?”
“I need people I can trust.”
“Is Sam your brother?”
He sighs and taps a finger against his glass.
I’m starting to think he doesn’t like questions.
Well, tough shit. I love them.
And it was his choice to sit here.
“He’s married to my sister-in-law.”
