Page 2 of Make Me Dream of You

And now they are on me. Pointedly so. Sharp enough to pierce.

His gaze trails down my collarbone to my tight-fitted tank top then further to my crossed legs, clad in my favorite pair of jeans with the rips in the thighs.

He’s taking his time, looking me over slowly, not even hiding it, like he doesn’t even care—no, that he wants me to know he’s looking.

I didn’t think I was showing that much skin, but with Noah Dixon’s eyes on me, I’m painfully aware of every single exposed inch, now burning red hot.

He’s looking at me—like a woman. Like he likes what he sees. And then his eyes are back on mine. Full, unrelenting eye contact.

Okay, twenty-one-year-old me might scream, cry, and throw up, too.

“Hi,” I manage to squeak out. Fuck.

His smirk grows. “Can I sit here?”

I nod, immediately reaching for my drink and sucking on the straw. Maybe if my mouth is busy, I won’t embarrass myself by letting anything else come out of it.

Noah’s gaze drops to my mouth. My pulse quickens.

“Can I get you another drink?” he asks.

I let the straw slip from my lips, realizing my drink is already almost empty.

“Sure.” I’m really killing it with the whole conversation thing.

Get it together, Livvy.

Noah Dixon is buying me a drink. If it were any other man in this situation, I’d have the upper hand.

He obviously doesn’t know who I am, which isn’t a surprise. Eight years is a long time, and I don’t look anything like I did at thirteen, thank god. I was a bit of an ugly duckling—in the middle of growing out bangs, full braces, chubby—not at all helped by my awkwardness and being severely introverted.

It took years to come out of my shell and gain confidence in myself and my appearance.

And here I am, reverting to that lovesick teenager the second I see him.

Riley slides a newly poured drink across the bar to Noah with a little pop in his hip. “A gin and tonic for my favorite customer.”

“You say that to all the guys.”

Riley scoffs.

Noah chuckles. “I won’t forget your tip.”

“See, that’s why you’re my favorite, Noah.” Riley winks at him.

“Will you get the lady here whatever she likes?”

“Certainly.” Riley leans toward me. “Do you want another of what you’re having or something new, hunny?”

“Same, please.”

“You got it.”

I turn toward Noah, uncrossing and recrossing my legs and taking another sip of my drink. “So. Noah.”

His eyebrow quirks when I say his name and my stomach flips.

“The bartender knows you by name. I’m guessing you come here often.”

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