Finally, we reach a quiet corner of the bar and he gestures for me to sit down. As I perch on the bar stool, I can't help but notice how close we are. Our knees almost touch and I feel tiny sparks of excitement running up my spine.
“What will you have, Princess?” he asks.
I turn to the bartender. “I'll have a Jack Daniels on the rocks, please.”
When I turn back, he's grinning, eyes alight with surprise and admiration. “Impressive choice,” he says, ordering the same for himself.
As our drinks arrive, he raises his glass in a silent toast. I quickly follow suit. Our eyes lock over the rim of our glasses, and suddenly, words feel unnecessary.
His gaze is penetrating, searching. I feel exposed and vulnerable, but not uncomfortably. My breath catches as his intense stare flickers down to my lips before returning to mine.
The air around us crackles with unspoken potential. I know I should break this dangerous tension by looking away. But I can't. His magnetic presence has me spellbound and drawn in.
I let the rich whiskey slide down my throat, warming me from the inside out. As I savor the smoky flavor, the opening chords of a familiar song drift through the air. My stomach clenches as the melody takes me back to a time I'd rather forget.
I can't help but roll my eyes. “Oh, great. Just what we need—another sappy love song.”
Mister handsome raises an eyebrow, his lips quirking into an amused smile. “Not a fan of romantic ballads?"
“Please,” I scoff, setting my glass down with a little more force than necessary. “It's all just saccharine nonsense designed to manipulate emotions.”
He leans in, his green eyes dancing with curiosity. “And what's wrong with a little emotion? Isn't that what love's all about?”
I snort, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. "Love? Please. It's just a marketing ploy created by greeting card companies to sell more chocolate.”
His eyebrows shoot up and I prepare for him to backtrack or disagree. But instead, he laughs—a genuine sound that sends shivers down my spine.
“Greeting card companies? And here I thought it was a conspiracy by jewelers and florists.”
His reaction and the whiskey warming my veins embolden me to lean in closer. “Oh no, they're all in on it too. The whole thing's a scam. Happily ever after? More like 'putting up with each other until death do us part.'”
He nods sagely, a mock-serious expression on his face. “Ah yes, the sacred vows. 'I promise to love you, even when you leave dirty dishes in the sink and hog all the blankets.'”
A surprised laugh bubbles up from my chest. “And let's not forget, 'I'll stand by you, as long as you don't expect me to remember your mother's birthday or pick up my socks.'”
He grins, raising his glass in a toast. “To love: a beautiful delusion that keeps therapists in business.”
I clink my glass against his, marveling at the easy banter between us. Most guys would have run for the hills by now, muttering about 'crazy chicks' and 'commitment issues.' But he's not only keeping up; he's matching me quip for quip.
“I'm impressed,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “Most men would be halfway to the door by now, hearing my thoughts on love and relationships.”
His eyes soften, a hint of vulnerability peeking through his playful facade. “Maybe I'm not most men,” he says quietly, his gaze holding mine. “And I enjoy a challenge.”
I quirk an eyebrow, intrigued. “Is that so? And what, pray tell, makes you think I'm a challenge worth accepting?”
His gaze grows heated and intense. “Call it intuition,” he murmurs, “or perhaps just... a hunch.” His fingers trail along the back of my hand, sending tingles up my arm. “There's a fire in you, Princess, that I find... captivating.”
I swallow hard, my heart pounding. “And what if I told you,” I whisper, “that this fire you find so captivating has been extinguished? Burned out by one too many disappointments?”
His expression shifts, a flicker of understanding passing across his features. “Then I'd say,” he whispers back, “that it's my mission to stoke those embers until the flames burn brighter than ever before.”
The air between us crackles with unspoken promise; the tension is palpable. I find myself leaning closer, drawn in by the intensity of his gaze and the sincerity in his words.
“And what if,” I murmur, “I told you that I'm afraid of getting burned again?”
His thumb brushes across the back of my hand, a gentle caress. “Then I'd say, Princess, that I'm more than willing to take that risk. To prove to you that not every flame will leave you in ashes.”
I hold his gaze, searching for any sign of deception, any hint that he's merely playing a game. But all I see is a raw, honest yearning that resonates deep within me.