He picks up quickly, the eardrum rupturing noise on the other end only made worse as he shouts, “Why the fuck are you calling me?” into the phone.
“Just checking on things,” I tell him in a low tone when he and I both know that’s not true. “How’s Stella?”
A point he proves as he growls, “Stella is great. We’re having an awesome time.” Another growl, then I hear him tell Stella to stay wherever she is, and he’ll be right back. Suddenly, it’s quieter. “You’re not doing anything wrong, Landon. You’re allowed to go out. Meet women. Enjoy yourself. Have fun even.”
I drag my glass up to my lips and take a sip, hating how it slides so smoothly down my throat when I’d rather feel the bite of something harsher. “I know,” I lie.
He puffs. “You don’t know because if you did, you wouldn’t be calling me on your night out to check on Stella.”
“They think I’m you.”
He laughs. “Even better. Turn on the Fritz charm, smile so your facial muscles don’t atrophy from lack of practice, and get laid.”
“Like you did last night?”
“Oh shit. You’re at that bar. I should have warned you. I left with that woman, but as per usual with me as of late, nothing happened with her.” He clears his throat, his voice dropping. “Reese would want you to live your life.”
I don’t know how to do that anymore hovers on the tip of my tongue before I swallow it down with another sip of Luca’s favorite bourbon. Luca’s favorite. Tonight, I’m him. Not me. Because the not so simple question is, would she? Sometimes I’m not so sure after what I did.
“I mean it, Lan. Stow your emotional baggage for a night and remember what living actually feels like.”
I roll my eyes, hating how he called me Lan. He did it on purpose, to get a rise out of me. “Tonight you get to be the single dad, and I get to be the playboy? Is that it?”
He laughs. “Now you’re talking. I gotta get back to our girl. You’ve got all night, Landon. Use it.”
He disconnects the call with that demand, and I set my phone face down on the bar as I let his words burn a hole through my brain. I glance around the bar, flittering from one woman to the next. There’s a group of them at the far end, all making eyes at me. Soft, hypnotic jazz and low lighting set a seductive tone as come-fuck-me eyes and flirty smiles that do nothing for me hit me from every direction while I do what I can to resist the temptation.
I don’t make it long.
A few more seconds at most before I lose the battle I was hardly fighting and turn back to her. The woman on my left. I watch, mesmerized for some unexplainable reason, as she pulls her phone from her purse only to scowl at the thing, shake her head, and then shove it right back in. She growls, curses, laughs, then shakes her head again.
Dragging some green concoction in a towering martini glass to her lips, she nearly downs the whole thing in one swift go before licking the remnants from her lips. Then, as if she senses me staring, her head whips in my direction, and I’m met with huge, doe-like hazel eyes, and every single breath I had trapped in my lungs flees.
Holy shit.
I swallow thickly, my throat dry, words failing me.
And not for the first time in my life, I genuinely wish I were my brother.
Any of the other four of them because they’re so good at this—talking to women—and I’m terrible. I haven’t wanted to make small talk or listen or pretend with any of the women I’ve temporarily fallen in bed with. But, staring into her eyes that somehow manage to strip me bare, I want to know all her thoughts. All her hidden words. Every secret she’s terrified to tell another living soul.
She smiles at me—a breath of dawn after the stormy night—and now I’m the one frowning. I hate this. Her barely concealed sadness pisses me off. I’m not here tonight to wallow in misery—that’s all I ever fucking do—I’m here for a few brief moments of pleasure. For that reason alone, I should turn away. Pick up one of those other eager women to get lost in for a few hours.
But her eyes, they won’t let go.
They pierce through me, attacking my armor. Which is why I do what I always do when feelings stir inside of me. I shut it down. Only I don’t—can’t—look away either. That is until Gabe comes back, breaking the spell I’m cast under.
“You want another, Luca?”
Right. I’m Luca. Not Landon. What would Luca do when faced with a beautiful woman? “Yes.”
He pours me more of Luca’s bourbon before strolling over to the woman, dropping his elbows on the bar top, and leaning in as close as he can.
“And I take it you want your second half?”
“If that’s okay?” she replies, her voice soft, sweet, Southern—more twang than drawl.
“Left it right here for you.” Gabe’s eyes skim back and forth between the sexy stranger and me as he pours her second martini of the night from a prefilled shaker that had been set on ice. “I see you’ve met my friend.”
She shakes her head, her gaze casting back to mine. “Not yet.”
Well, hell.
“That’s Luca. Lucky bastard,” Gabe mutters that last part under his breath as he slides her glass toward her and walks away.
She twists to face me, and before I can stop myself or think twice, I rise out of my seat and move into the one directly beside her, catching a hint of her perfume as I do. She was beautiful before, but up close she’s incredible, and my heart kick-starts in my chest.
“Rough day at work?” I ask, then inwardly cringe. Not only does it sound like I’m judging her for drinking the way she is, but it’s a dumb as fuck pickup line.
She laughs, the swirls of green and brown in her eyes sparkling. “No. No work for me today.”
We both lift our glasses like they’re going to save us from this awkward, intense moment. She smiles. I smile back. We stare.
“Looks like we’re having a drink together,” I remark.
“Looks that way.”
I do a slow sweep down her body before returning to her eyes. “Lucky me.”
“We’ll see about that,” she replies, then laughs, shaking her head as if she can’t believe she said that out loud. “Wooh, it’s been a long day, and I’m horrible at this. Pretend I didn’t say that.”
Like hell I will.
“I’m Elle.”
“I’m…” I hesitate.
“Luca. Yes, your bartender friend told me.”
I don’t correct her. I nod, but as the lie passes over me, I’m hit with the all too familiar twinge of guilt. I don’t enjoy lying to anyone, but remembering the sadness in her eyes before I sat beside her makes the feeling worse. The feeling doesn’t last long, though. It’s quickly overpowered by something else—trepidation—as she studies me curiously.
I can see it all unfolding before my eyes. The way my name zips around in her head, the flicker of her gaze as she examines me closer. I’m waiting for it. For the recognition to come while wishing I hadn’t been stupid enough to sit beside her.
“I feel like I’ve seen you before.”
Yup. Here it comes. “Maybe I have one of those faces.”