Page 29 of A Bond with the Dark

I can’t help but feel drawn to him like he’s pulling me into some gravitational pull around just him.

“Let’s just say I had a rough patch. I beat cancer and was miserable in my marriage and then divorced him. He had a new family right away over Christmas. Booze became a way to numb, and it got out of hand.

“I was driving home drunk from Denver during the day and had an epiphany. I had already lost so much and I was about to lose the rest. If I got pulled over, I’d lose my license, which would cost me my job, followed by my home, and then ultimately, my son. So I quit. I got to the point where I wanted to feel everything again, even the bad.” I don’t know why I’m sharing this with him. It usually takes me a few dates to tell men about my personal story. Still, there is something about how he’s looking at me, making me want to tell him like the words are being pulled from me rather than me choosing to say them.

“Wow. Cancer? You okay now?”

“Yeah, I’m okay now. Just hit five years post-treatment, so I was deemed cured.”

“Congrats,” he says, taking the bourbon from the waiter and handing me the daiquiri.

“Thank you.”

“Not a problem. So,”—he takes a slow sip of his whiskey, the ice chinking against the glass—“now that you’re in the clear, what are your goals and dreams?”

A man that’s interested in my dreams and goals?That’s unique.

“I am a writer and in school. Trying to get my book published and a degree. But,” I pause and look around, bracing for the impact of the words I’m about to say, “my parents just passed away last week, and so I’m trying to get through that right now.”

“Your parents just died?”

The way his attention is anchored on me is disarming.

“Yes,” I say solemnly. “We had their balloon release earlier today.”

His manscaped brows pull together. “That is so tragic. I would say I am sorry, but I know how old that can get. I’ve lost people too. I hope you’re doing all right.”

“Thank you for not saying sorry. I don’t know how to respond to that.”

“Right,” he says, shrugging his shoulders and holding up his palms. “People don’t know what else to say, but responding can be hard.”

“Who did you lose, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Not at all. I’ve lost many people.” He pauses, and his mountain-colored eyes drift away as though chastened by loss and electing it to return to him. “All my grandparents. Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. A few friends.”

“That’s a lot.”

“Yeah, but more about you. Why’re you here?”

Taking a sip of my daiquiri, I glance at Claire and Anna. They’re clumsily dancing with one another, each shot making them tipsier.

“Because these two wanted to get me out of the house and away from the sadness. I’m trying to do what my mom would want and find the light in the dark.”

“Good for you. That’s all you can do.”

“And you? Are you single? Divorced? Didn’t I see you with a pretty blonde by the bar earlier?”

He lifts the glass to his lips, and I can’t help but notice the sensualism of his mouth again, his upper lip exquisitely sculpted. The kind of mouth that would keep me up at night.

“I am single. Almost married once. And that blonde was trying to flirt. Blondes aren’t really my type.”

“No? And what is your type?”

“Sexy, strong, independent brunettes with curves for days and as many tattoos as me.”

The delicate flickering in my stomach is making it entirely too difficult to stifle the giggles I’m suppressing. His astute gaze devours my every word, beseeching and bewildered, calming my heart and making me feel safe.

“Would you like to dance?”

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