Page 3 of Wrapped Up

The bartender sets my drink in front of me, and I wrap my fingers around the cool glass. I take a sip, relishing the burn as it slides down my throat. It's grounding, reminding me why I'm here. Yes, I'm here to have fun, but I'm not here to lose myself. Not again.

I'm about to take another sip when I pause. A prickle of awareness crawls over my skin. Slowly, I lower my glass and look up. There he is.

He's on the other side of the bar; his gaze locks on me with an intensity that steals my breath. A small smile plays at the corners of his lips, knowing and mysterious all at once. My heart stutters in my chest, and I feel a flush creeping up my neck.

Look away,screams a voice in my head. But I don’t. Maybe it’s the alcohol kicking in, or maybe I’m just tired of playing it safe. Whatever it is, I hold his gaze, chin lifting in a silent challenge.

His smile widens as he raises his glass in a mock toast. The move is so smooth, so effortlessly charming, that I nearly laugh. Instead, I mimic the gesture, lifting my glass with a wry smirk.

What am I doing?This isn't me. I don't flirt with strangers across crowded bars. I don't engage in these wordless exchanges that crackle with tension and possibility. And yet... I can't seem to look away. His eyes hold mine, a silent conversation unfolding between us. He quirks an eyebrow, posing a playful challenge. I feel my lips twitch in response, fighting a smile.

He leans forward, elbows on the bar, the stretch of his shirt across his chest drawing my gaze. My throat tightens; I swallow hard.

No, Jennifer. This is dangerous territory.

But I can't help myself. I tilt my head, considering him. What would his name be? Something strong and masculine. Jacob, maybe? Or James? It suits him—this air of quiet confidence, the way he commands attention without saying a word.

He mirrors my tilt, amusement gleaming in his eyes. I feel a laugh bubble up, unexpected and real. This is ridiculous. We’re playing a silent game across a crowded bar, and I’m enjoying it more than I should.

He picks up a cocktail napkin, scribbling something on it. My heart races as he holds it up. But instead of a name or number, it's a simple sketch. A crown. I furrow my brow, confused.

He grins, pointing at me, then looks back at the drawing. And suddenly, I get it. A princess. He's calling me a princess.

I roll my eyes dramatically, but I can feel the blush creeping up my neck. I grab my own napkin, quickly sketching a stick figure with exaggerated muscles. I hold it up, pointing at him with a smirk.

His shoulders shake with silent laughter, and I feel a thrill of victory. This is fun. Harmless. It's just a bit of playful banter without the messy complications of actual conversation.

Stop it, Jenn. You know where this leads.

But I can't seem to make myself walk away. There's something intoxicating about this wordless exchange, the way we're connecting without having to navigate the minefield of small talk and first impressions.

He raises his glass again, this time with a question in his eyes. An invitation. My heart pounds.

This is it. It's time for me to make a decision.

Chapter2

Jennifer

Igrip my glass, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. It’s just a drink; it doesn’t have to mean anything. But I’m all too familiar with how easily I can let myself fall into the trap of wishful thinking, and how much it hurts when reality inevitably crashes in. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I can't give in to this temptation. I won't.

With a regretful smile, I shake my head and raise my glass one final time in a silent salute before turning away and let the last bit of whiskey burn its way down my throat.

As much as my heart yearns for me to accept his drink invitation, I resist and stand up from my seat. I maneuver through the crowd, feeling the rhythm of the music pulsing through my body. The dance floor is alive with people moving in sync, some lost in romantic embraces while others laugh and twirl without a care in the world. I spot Anna and Peter intertwined, completely enraptured by each other.

The music shifts, adopting a seductive beat that sweeps everyone into a collective sway. I find myself drawn in, closing my eyes and surrendering to the moment. For a fleeting second, I let myself believe this could be enough.

But then I feel it—that familiar tingling sensation on my skin that signifies he's watching me. My heart races and my senses go into overdrive, but I resist the urge to search for him in the crowd. A flush spreads across my cheeks and neck, and I have to fight back the trembling in my hands. I should walk away and find Anna, end the night here.

Yet, instead of leaving, I let myself give into his unseen gaze. My movements become more sensual and fluid, running my hands through my hair and arching my back slightly. It's not like me to put on a show for strangers at a bar.

But something about this feels exhilarating—knowing he's watching me and responding to every inch of my body. Our silent dance is intoxicating, and I can't help but move with more purpose. My fingers trail down my neck in a way that would normally make me blush, but now only adds fuel to this fire between us.

I slowly open my eyes, drawn to him like a magnet. He's leaning against the bar, his striking green eyes fixed on me. A smile spreads across his face, and I feel it like a physical touch.

This is reckless. I know I shouldn't play this game, but right now, I feel alive. Desired. In control. The logical part of my brain screams for caution, reminding me why I swore off men like him. But my body has other plans. Slowly, I turn, giving him a glimpse of my back, glancing over my shoulder to meet his gaze once more.

He pushes off the bar, taking a step toward me. My heart skips, caught between excitement and fear. What am I doing? What do I even want?

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