“Why don’t we grab a beer? It’s noisy as hell this close to the stage.”
She looks away, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear. “I don’t know, Vincent. Life has moved on. And I don’t enjoy going back.” She shifts to leave. “Good seeing you,” she waves in goodbye.
“Hazel,” I voice, but she ducks beneath my arm and walks out. I dog after her. “Hazel.”
My heart shrivels inside my chest. No, no, no, I need to convince her of giving me a chance to talk.
She stops in her tracks and snaps around to face me. “What is it, Vincent?”
Fuck, if she knew how hard my cock gets from the way she says my name, she wouldn’t repeat it. Not if she wants to keep her distance.
The main band enters, and the music pumps, the lights dancing around us. I take another step, willing her to see through me. Straight inside me, as she used to. She used to understand me so well. She used to see every light and dark corner of my soul and love it.
And I have been waiting for our connection again. I have to make her see.
“Just a beer. For old time’s sake.”
HAZEL
One moment I’m telling myself I shouldn’t let him talk me into this. Vincent used me once. He said he loved me just to get inside my pants and abandoned me without a second thought. I learned my lesson, and I’m not falling into this trap.
This much taller, hotter, and broader trap. Damn, he has grown ripped since the last time we saw each other...
I mean. I’m not falling into that. Just say “no, thanks,” Hazel. You can do this. You are a powerful, independent woman, and you can have any man in this place. Your heart is not beating out of rhythm just from looking at him. He’s not messing up with your brains and your girl parts.
Say no. You can do this.
“Sure,” escapes my mouth.
What?!
“Fantastic.” He flashes me that one billion dollars smile that never failed to make my panties melt. But that’s in the past. He has no effect upon my body anymore.
And now that my mouth has worked on itself and betrayed me, I will have to sit down with him and make small talk. Damn. I was supposed to reject it!
Vincent indicates the bar with a hand and presses the other to the small of my back. It’s a non-touch. His hand hovers inches from my body, but it radiates heat, slamming into my covered flesh and wrestling goosebumps from me. It’s hotter than most of the kisses I’ve received. He guides me with his non-touch to a bar stool where I perch over, a booted foot touching the floor, ready to escape.
He leans against the stool next to me but doesn’t sit, an elbow over the counter. I avoid his eyes because, damn, my flesh is weak. The glass bottles lining the back wall become my focal point.
“Do you still like vodka?”
I snap my head to meet his eyes. A crooked smile stretches his lips. Those warm brown eyes I loved upon me. Swallowing hard, I nod.
Vincent turns to the barman and raises a V with his fingers. The arm he raises is covered in tattoos to the elbow, and I catch myself trailing it up to the sleeve of his shirt, wondering where it leads to. “Two vodka shots.”
As the barman serves our drinks, I open my purse to pay for it, but Vincent is quicker, slamming a bill over the counter.
I cock a brow, twisting my lips. I have never liked men paying for my stuff. Every single fling I had advanced in a very specific way — I don’t let them pay so they won’t say I owe them.
Vincent shakes his head at me, tilting his chin up. “Let me pay this time. I’m the one who offered.”
I want to insist, but… It’s Vincent. He would never say I owed him. He’s not that kind of person. Crossing my arms over my chest, I turn my face to watch the ongoing concert.
For a moment, I’m surprised about the band playing on stage. I had forgotten I have come here to watch them.
“So, a bakery,” he calls, and I snap my attention back to him. “How great is that, uh?”
I immediately regret facing him. He looks so damn good under the dim light. His big eyes watch me as if he wants to commit every motion to memory. Every inch of me.
“Yeah. I worked two jobs with culinary school and saved every penny I could.” I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “The month before opening up the bakery, I lived off instant noodles. Clearly,” I add, motioning to my abdomen.
Vincent cocks his head, tilting a brow. “‘Clearly’?”
I roll my eyes. He met me in high school. Though I’ve always had ample hips and heavy boobs, I’ve put on weight. Still healthy, but some sizes up. And the dress I’m wearing doesn’t conceal anything.
“I mean, I’m a bigger girl than I used to be.”
“Yes, you are,” he draws out, his voice an octave lower. His gaze rakes down my body. Intense. Hot. So full of plain lust it makes heat pool low between my legs. Though he’s agreed I have more curves than back in school, the tone of his voice makes it clear he doesn’t think that’s a bad thing. Hell, just one look and I feel more desired than every past fling made me feel. “You look—”
Before he can finish his sentence, I cut him in. I don’t want to hear what he thinks about me right now. I’m damn weak and won’t handle compliments. “What about you? Software development?”
His gaze meets mine, and he clears his throat. “Of course. It pays well, I can work from home, listening to my music, on my pajamas.” He leans back, crossing his arms as the bartender props two shots of vodka in front of us. “Perfect job. I have nothing to complain about.”
“You work from home?” I take one of the shots between my fingers. “That’s a dream.”
“Right?” He takes his. “The people I work for are very flexible. I just need to put in the hours, the effort. They don’t care where I am or how I’m dressed. Honest to God, Hazel, I do video-conferences with the CEO in a three-days old shirt and boxer briefs.”
I crack up. I laugh so hard the overflowing vodka spills a drop into my fingers, eliciting more laughter. “No! My vodka!”
“No, anything but the vodka,” he sneers and clinks his glass against mine. “To new meetings with old friends.”
Friends. Yeah, because that’s what we were.
I have nothing to add and I don’t want to argue, so I chug the drink down. It burns its way down to my stomach and settles comfortably there, the warmth spreading through my limbs.
“You don’t have the build of someone who lives burrowed inside their place,” I offer after I abandon the glass next to his.
He makes a face as the vodka burns down his throat. The memory of our first time tasting the then illegal beverage lights something fuzzy inside me. So I shove it aside. Go away, demons of past relationships!
“I work out. Every time I get frustrated or something.” He wheezes, “Wow, that was a strong vodka.”
“Uh? It was not all that.” I shimmy my shoulders. “Pretty average.”
“Average?” He covers his chest and mock-coughs a couple of times. “Are you a boozer, Hazel? You should have told me.”
“I am not, I’ve always been better at holding my liquor than you.” I immediately regret bringing the past up.