Mine Would Be You (8)

My cheeks are on fire, and I probably have the appearance of someone who applied way too much blush or is extremely embarrassed. Sloan is singing along loudly to every song that plays overhead, and I’ve had to pull down Harper from standing on a high top at least twice. Because in her eyes, dancing on the floor is nowhere near as fun as dancing on a table.

I’ve also fought off at least four creepy men on the upstairs dance floor, and I need another drink to cool me down immediately. Or one to pour on the next man that approaches me. Whichever is more pressing at the moment.

“I’ll be right back. I need a drink,” I say to my friends, whose hands are intertwined as they dance around to the song, and I toss them a smile as I make my way downstairs.

The lights are slightly blurred in a multitude of colors as I finally reach the bar, an effect of the amount of alcohol I’ve consumed tonight. But I like it. I’m enjoying the buzz. The sheer feeling of aliveness flowing through my body, from my toes to my fingertips.

I stand on my tiptoes to eye my surroundings, trying to make my short frame appear taller among the crowd around the bar. My view is interrupted by someone much taller than me on my tiptoes. I lean back, stumbling slightly before I catch myself on the counter. He’s at least 6’2 with tanned skin and loose blond curls that falls over his forehead in a way that makes me want to run my hands through them.

He’s turned away from me, talking to someone on his left, but energy burns off him.

It’s lively and warm and all-encompassing.

His head starts to turn, and I force my eyes forward to await a bartender, tapping my nails on the countertop. The hairs on the back of my neck rise as the heat of his gaze sticks to my skin.

I’ve been cold all week. Between constant goosebumps and tears, I couldn’t shake the chills no matter how deep I burrowed into my blankets with my boiling hot coffee.

But right now, my skin is prickling with warmth.

I turn, and my eyes connect with his.

Not only are his eyes blue, like a deep cerulean blue that I could sink in—drown in—his smile is bright and enticing. All surrounded by a sharp jawline and double dimples.

To put it simply, he’s gorgeous.

His face lights up further if that’s possible, like he’s walking on sunshine as he looks at me. I don’t deny that the slow trail of his eyes down my body causes an intense butterfly sensation in my stomach.

But I raise an eyebrow as he looks at me, keeping my face neutral, as if the way he’s looking at me and the sunshiny smile are having absolutely no effect on me.

And the dimples?

My god.

I break away from the intense gaze as the bartender comes over with a small smile and asks me if I want the usual, to which I nod. She asks him for his order and disappears to go make them.

He leans down, resting both forearms on the bar to make us eye level with each other. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and the collar is unbuttoned at the top where his tan skin peaks out. His arm just barely grazes mine.

And I’m not sure if it’s the buzz or him that causes the spot to burn along with a flash of heat in the pit of my stomach. My mind goes blank briefly, distracted by everything about him.

Either way, I like it.

“Hi.”

His voice is deep and unwavering and at the same time, light and airy. It draws me in and washes over me. All in one simple word.

I struggle to keep my face straight.

“Hi,” I say, making a move to hand the bartender my cash, but before I can he’s sliding her a credit card. “Thank you, but you didn’t—that wasn’t necessary.”

His smile never falters as he takes a sip of what looks like an old fashioned, and I wrap my lips around the straw in my own drink. Turning, he leans his back against the bar, looking down at me.

Those blue eyes are the brightest thing in the darkened bar.

“No need to thank me. I wanted to.”

I cock my head as I watch him carefully. Not caring that it seems as if I’m studying him like a piece of artwork hanging in the Metropolitan. Because the way he smiles, the sharp cut of his jaw and his eyes.

He belongs in a museum.

And I want to take it all in.

“Are you here alone?” he asks, eyes roaming for a second before landing on me.

With his eyes trained on mine, I can’t help but notice the crackling electricity between us in this small space. Somehow separating us from everyone else, even though we’re surrounded.

I roll my eyes, biting my lip to hide my smile. “My friends are upstairs.”

“Friends. Okay, good.”

“Good?” I twirl my finger in the condensation on my glass.

“I prefer that response to boyfriend.”

My cheeks flush despite myself, and I know it’s not from the alcohol this time as the heat spreads up my neck and over my face.

“Just because I didn’t respond boyfriend doesn’t mean I don’t have one.”

He nods slowly. “Do you?”

“No.”

The smile on his face expands, both dimples deepening. “Good.”

I step away from the bar so I’m directly in front of him just as someone bumps into me from behind, causing me to stumble. I manage to keep my drink upright, but his hand wraps around my arm and grips my elbow to steady me.

Goosebumps spread over my skin. And not the bad kind that I got familiar with this week. The good kind. The kind that makes you forget about every other thought and focus on the skin-to-skin contact going on.