Page 26 of Bound

I watch him in the reflection as his gaze traces over my body. I’m perched on the bar stool but I’m wearing a nice dress, the nicest little black dress I own, and I spent a long time curling my hair so it flows nicely down my back. I shift and start to turn?—

When I see him look back at the hostess.

And smile.

And stay there and chat with her.

And pull out his phone, type something into it, and?—

Smile at her again before…

He turns and walks out of the restaurant.

My whole body is still as I wait for the door to open again, for him to come back in, for the hostess to come over and give me some sort of explanation—he forgot to buy me flowers or a puppy or?—

My cell chimes and I lurch for it, seeing a message push notification pop up on the screen from the dating app. I click into it, heart in my throat as I wait for it to load.

Sorry, I have to cancel. I got stuck at work.

I’m frozen for a few seconds, staring at the words, wondering if I could have imagined the man walking in, imagined the whole interaction with the hostess at the front of the bar.

But his…picture is right there.

It was him.

He saw me…

And he got the fuck out.

I—

My skin is too tight for my body and my eyes burn like motherfuckers, but I manage to sit there and finish my drink, manage to pay and tip the bartender—and do it seeming sort of normal, I think.

Or at least, he doesn’t give me any strange looks.

Then I’m out of the bar, out onto the sidewalk.

And clearly, out of my mind thinking that any man might want me.

Turns out that chasing down the perfect gas station hot dog after spending the night tossing and turning, mind on repeat as I relived the scene in the bar, the look I’d seen my supposed date giving me in the mirror, the flirting with the hostess, the confident swagger as he made his way out…

Well, none of that is conducive to sleep.

I inhale, shore up my spine, and hold my sack of snacks closer, grip the cooler full of drinks I’m wheeling behind me tighter.

I’ll sleep tonight—exhaustion will make that so, I think, considering how damned tired I am already and the game hasn’t even started yet.

We’ve got more games to go too.

More cities to see.

More dates?—

To cancel because I’m not doing that shit again.

I inhale, push through the door, trying to keep my eyes on target—the table on the far side of the room where I can set up my stuff.

Unfortunately, my gaze drifts up, hitches when it meets Jackson’s for the barest of a second.

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