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“Good.” He smiles, all white teeth. No dimples, though—and why does it matter? He puts his hand on my arm, and now he’s way too close. “I’m Gale.”
“Hi. Could you just...?” I try to shrug off his hand, my heart pounding, and oh shit this isn’t good because fear is clogging my throat, taking my breath.
Shitshitshit.
“What the fuck are you doing, Gale?” a familiar male voice snarls, and Gale’s hand is gone from my arm, and so is he—another guy taking his place. Dark brows, dark hair, pale gray eyes.
“Pax, are you okay?” Riot. Riot is standing in front of me, and how’s that possible? “Hey.”
He’s not touching me, and I want him to touch me. Steady me.
“What are you doing here?” I breathe.
“Come on, let’s go talk. I want another drink.” He reaches for me, stops, his hand curling into a fist. “Pax.”
I lick my lips and nod. “Yeah, let’s go.”
***
We return to the bar. Corey is nowhere to be seen, and this time I’m grateful as I miraculously find a stool to sit on. I climb on it and watch Riot order his poison.
Whisky, apparently. Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. He looks...rough tonight. Rougher than usual. He doesn’t seem to have shaved in days, and his hair is longer, hanging in his eyes.
His glass is slid across the bar. He takes it and turns to me. Silent. Measuring me with his eyes.
Probably wondering if I’m about to go into full panic mode and start screaming at him. Wouldn’t be the first time.
But I’m calm now. He’s here, and I know nothing bad can happen to me.
Crazy. This is crazy.
He’s only dressed in a tight-fitting black tee and faded jeans, and his orange flame tattoos seem to glint like inlaid metal on his arm. The hoops in his ears glimmer in the half-light.
He has a red line on his cheek. I frown, lean closer. A scratch?
“You sure you don’t want anything? A beer?” he asks.
“I’m fine.”
“So you’ve met Gale.” He sips at his whisky. “Colleague. He likes hanging out here. It’s his favorite bar.”
Right. Another escort. “Sorry I freaked out.”
“You got nothing to be sorry for. He’s an idiot.”
That makes me smile, and after a moment Riot smiles back. Which means I’m staring at his mouth, the full lips, the hint of a dimple.
Stop it, Pax.
Easier said than done, especially when he licks his lips and looks down at his glass, his long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks.
“What did that to you?” I point at the scratch. “Dexter?”
“You remember the name of my cat?” His smile widens, and whoa, there are the dimples. So hot I have to press my legs together, a throb starting low in my belly.
“Dexter and Batman, the dog with the bat ears.”
“That’s right.”
