Page 8 of Fractured Fear

We were at Moonlit when a guy thought that sitting next to me at the bar and telling me that I was “easy on the eyes” meant he had the right to grab my ass. I got up to head to the small dance floor when the asshole made his move. I punched him in the face on instinct. I was embarrassed and ready to leave, but the owner, Jerry, stopped me and ended up kicking out Mr. Grabby Hands. Our drinks were free the rest of the night. Now the three of us go back to Moonlit once a month.

Something tells me this man isn’t the kind who thinks he has the right to touch me.

“Hi, I’m looking for the owner. Spencer, I believe.” A kind smile graces his face. I practically melt, and the instinct to run the other direction when a beautiful man comes within a few feet of me starts to kick in.

The attractive man holds up a flier in his hand. A flier I recognize as one of the many I had printed on neon yellow paper and hung up in various small businesses.

Hayes and I make eye contact, and he smirks. We both know how this is going to go. I’ve found myself in this situation more than once where someone walks in and wants to speak to the owner. No one ever expects Spencer to be a woman, let alone a business owner. Art may seem feminine, but it’s still a male dominated industry. I have had people walk out when they see I’m a human with boobs and not a stocky person who can grow a beard.

I stand from the small eighteen-inch stool and greet the beautiful stranger. “That’s me. What can I help you with?”

He doesn’t look shocked—like every other man does—when I introduce myself. Instead, his eyes trail up and down my frame, taking in my plain black leggings, crusty All-American Rejects shirt, and messy bun. His eyes alight when they reconnect with mine.

Is this man checking me out?

“Zane Kingston,” he states and stretches his hand towards me.

“Spencer Gray. What can I do for you?” I take his hand and do my best to seem unaffected by his touch. His hand is warm and calloused. Deliciously so.

Still not going there. But maybe later.

Wait. WHAT! Down, Spencer!

“I was hoping to purchase some pottery classes for my friend for his birthday,” Zane answers as he pulls his hand away andplaces it in his pocket, naturally falling into a hot guy pose. I would bet big money he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing.

His answer is not at all what I was expecting to come out of his mouth. It takes a minute before I’m able to reply, “I can help you out with that.” I walk over to one of the work tables and grab my tablet. When I turn, he’s right there behind me. “Oh. Umm. How many classes were you thinking? Does your friend have any experience?”

“He doesn’t. I saw on the flier that you offer one-on-one classes. Who teaches them?”

“I do.”

He flashes his tempting smile at me and says, “Definitely one-on-one classes then.”

My face heats at his implication and I do my best to not look him in the face anymore. If I peek at his angelic features again, I’m sure I’ll do something completely unlike me and ask him to take me upstairs so he can do some glazing on my donut hole.

We get the classes set up for his friend and I stand there uncomfortably waiting for him to leave the studio…and my life. I’m the awkward one. He stands there as if Michelangelo sculpted him from marble and placed him smack dab in the middle of my studio.

“How long have you owned this place?”

Is he making small talk? With me?

“Oh. I–uh—” Of course I can’t even form a single coherent sentence right now.

“I work near here, but I don’t come by this area often.”

I get my shit together and answer, “I’ve owned the space for the last three years, but my abuela owned it before me. I did some renovating which took six months. It used to be one big studio, but I cut it in half and made the gallery next door.”

“Abstract Dreams?” He tilts his head to the side causing a curl to fall across his forehead. My hand itches to sweep it back, but I refrain by white knuckling my tablet.

“Yeah, have you been in?” My question comes out all squeaky.

Real smooth.

“Not yet,” he responds, and I glimpse that smile again.

Stay strong, Spencer. Stay strong. This man is a literal stranger.

Where the hell was he on my ladies’ night out? I would’ve let him take me home in a heartbeat.

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