I set my cup down on the bar and pushed my way through the crowd, my shoulders clumsily bumping other people, elbows pushing into backs. My lungs hurt for air, and my scalp was on fire.
Stepping through the curtain to the restaurant instantly cut the party’s volume in half. The restaurant had several people in it, but the conversation was softer, trading the rumble of pop music for something melodic. A bored bartender stood against the counter, bobbing her head to the DJ’s music.
After I yanked out a bar chair and sat down, the bartender quickly put her phone away and rushed to me, grabbing a bottle of water and the drinks menu, her nose wrinkled in apology.
“You’re the first person I’ve had tonight,” she said, opening the drinks menu to me and filling a fancy glass with water.
I gulped down the water, the chill of it shocking the tension out of my shoulders. “Trust me, you got the good side. I don’t know what all’s in those drinks, but it’s making people goofy as hell over there.”
The woman laughed, wiping her hands over her apron. “Thanks for the heads up. Is there anything on the menu that you’d like to know more about?”
I lifted the glass. “This is perfect.”
The woman did the usual line about giving her name and to call her over if I needed her, but it wouldn’t happen. I pulled out my phone and checked the time, trying to figure out when would be a good time to leave. I didn’t want to pull an Irish goodbye on Duncan, but I also didn’t want to try to find him in the mosh pit.
When the DJ shifted his set to a party song, the crowd erupted into a wild-ass yell. I looked at the bartender and shook my head. “See what I mean? Goofy.”
In silent agreement, the bartender nodded and returned to her phone. I began typing out a text to Duncan with a bland excuse of exhaustion sending me home, where I’d heat up one of the weekly meals he made me, then sit and watch some boring YouTube videos until I needed to go to bed.
I was on my third draft of a text when I heard a deep voice ask, “Hey, is this side open?”
I exhaled a long sigh. Great, now a bunch of fools were gonna come over here and make a whole other drunk scene. Fuck it, Duncan would get a text when I got home.
“Yup, it’s open,” the bartender said in a tone that was far too sweet to be strictly professional.
Confused, I looked over my shoulder and saw a man heading to the bar. His choppy, chin-length raven hair was flipped to one side, revealing a newly done undercut. He was dressed entirely in black—a tight tank top that showed off a full sleeve of tattoos, skintight black jeans, and combat boots.
He certainly didn’t fit in with the rest of the crowd’s cocktail dresses and button-downs, but a guy like this was far more up my alley than any of the other bros on the other side.
Ice-blue eyes lined with black liner found me, and the man pointed at the chair next to me. “Is this taken?”
My foot skid off the footrest. Well, damn, he was even hotter up close.
I shook my head. “All yours, man.”
The guy slid into the chair, resting his ankle on top of his other leg, rubbing his calf while the bartender poured him water and gave him a menu. He looked it over, his finger resting on the nonalcoholic area and asked, “I can’t pronounce it, but could I get this?”
As the bartender made his drink, I studied the guy’s profile, from the silver hoop in his right nostril all the way to his bottom lip caught between his teeth while he groaned.
I couldn’t ignore the zing that ran up my leg when his knee hit my thigh.
“Sorry for invading your space,” he said with a grunt, his face twisted in discomfort. “My legs are killing me from work today, and there were only, like, five seats over there.” He adjusted in his seat again and gave me a once-over that had my skin hot all over. His gaze broke when the bartender brought him his drink, watching him intently as he took a test sip and gave a thumbs-up.
They chatted a bit, and I looked back at my phone at the empty text to Duncan, my original plan to bounce put on hold.
“Out of your element too?” the man asked, his attention back on me.
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and reached out to spin an abandoned cocktail napkin. “Kinda, yeah. I only know a couple of people, but they’re far more popular than me.”
“Hey, you’re lucky. I don’t know a single person here,” the man said, tilting his head toward the ceiling. The light shined over his face, making the silver hoop in his nose more noticeable. Jesus, even positioned under the worst lighting he was hot. He looked at me with a smirk and said, “Well, except for Destiny, but everyone here knows Destiny.”
“She roped you in too?”
The man hummed and took a sip of his drink. “She’s very persuasive.”
I snorted. “Ain’t that the truth. But she’s known for throwing a great party.”
“I’m beginning to learn.” The man half spun toward me and rested his arms on the table. My gaze roved over his black tank top and the several necklaces settled on his lean chest. When I looked back up at him, he extended a hand. “Micah.”
I took it, my fingers clasping around his. His palm was cool against mine. “Nik.”
Micah ran the tip of his index finger up the side of my wrist as he briefly squeezed my hand before letting go and running the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip. The tingling in my hand went all the way up my arm and into my chest.
I cleared my throat. “So, what kind of work do you do that has you make up for the gym leg days?”
“Do I look like the kind of guy who deadlifts?” Micah asked with a dramatic wave of a hand in front of him. I snorted, and his lips twitched as he attempted to keep his face serious. “I’m a delivery driver. Not terribly exciting, but the pay is good, and the benefits are too. What about you?”
“I work at the co-op off Whittle.”
Micah paused, his drink halfway to his mouth, his eyebrows flying up. “Really? That’s on my new route. I’m surprised I haven’t seen you there before.”
I slipped the pad of my thumb along the condensation beading on the side of my glass and bobbed my head in consideration before looking up at him through my eyelashes. “Maybe you don’t remember.”
Micah’s gaze flitted over me, slow and deliberate, one side of his mouth tilting upward. “Trust me,” he said, his voice dropping to a murmur. I looked up to find that crystal-blue gaze locked on me, heated. “I wouldn’t forget seeing you.”
There was interest there, and it wasn’t just friendly.
I wet my lips, my heart knocking my breastbone as Micah’s mouth parted. He started to reach out to me, but then he stopped and clenched his hand.
