Page 15 of There's No Us Without You
All the air rushes out of my lungs and I collapse onto the bar, my cheek squished against the solid timber. The last thing I want—or need—is to be alone. I’ve spent the last five years either being alone or feeling alone, and I have no plans to continue down that path.
If I’m going to make a new life for myself, I need to be the total opposite of who I am.
“Another?” The man is in front of me again, examining me with his dark-blue eyes like I’m some sort of circus animal.
I sit up straight and nod, which seems to be answer enough for him to pour another shot into the glass.
Damn, he’s intimidating in a way I never knew existed. I’m also acutely aware of the way my body reacts to his. His short light-brown hair is shaved on the sides, and longer on top. His lips aren’t as full as Emerson’s, but they’re perfectly shaped, the bottom one a little more plump than the top. There’s also a mix of dark and coloured tattoos covering his neck, arms, and hands, and if I had to guess, his chest and back too.
When Blue Eyes crosses his arms and presses his hip into the back of the bar top, I realise I’ve been staring at him for longer than is usually deemed appropriate.
“Are you done eye-fucking me?” he says, an eyebrow raised, a slight smirk lifting one side of his lips.
“Excuse me?” I almost choke on the words.
“If you’re looking for a revenge fuck, I’m not your guy.”
“That’s not—oh my god.” I drop my face into my hands.
I can’t seem to catch a break. Everywhere I turn, I’m being bombarded with the consequences of my bad decisions.
I’m just about to stand and leave when his deep voice cuts through the noise in my head.
“I have a spare room at my place,” he says.
I drop my hands and snap my eyes up, narrowing them as I try to work out his angle. “What?”
Gaze down, he’s scrolling through my phone while spinning a gold ring around his middle finger with his thumb. “A room. I have one,” he says, his eyebrows lifting when he darts a glance in my direction. “It’s all yours if you want it.”
“You can’t be serious?”
First, he’s telling me he doesn’t want to pity-fuck me—not that I would accept anyway—and now he’s offering me a place to stay.
The man lifts a shoulder and slides my phone over to me. “Take it or leave it. I don’t care.”
“You could be a serial killer.”
Stop. Talking.
I’m tempted to slap myself. Pretty sure I shouldn’t be calling out a serial killer, you know, in case he is in fact a serial killer.
For a moment, he just stares at me, a blank expression on his face until he flicks his gaze upwards and sucks in a breath through his nose. “Jesus, who hurt you?” He shakes his head slightly. “Forget it.”
With a wave of his hand, he throws a small white towel over his shoulder and grabs a tray of dirty glasses.
“Wait. I... I don’t even know your name.”
This makes him pause mid-stride before he sets the tray down again. “It’s Will,” he says. “Willis Becker.”
“I’m Eden. Eden Reeves.” I mimic his introduction while thrusting a hand in his direction when he stalks back over.
I can’t help but appreciate everything about him. Well, except his personality. Even his walk is sexy. Who knew that was even a thing I’d be attracted to?
With a roll of his eyes, he takes my hand in his, and I struggle to tear my gaze from the ink covering his hand and arm. “Happy?” he says. “Now we know each other.”
I scoff. “Hardly. You could have given me a fake name.”
“And you could be the serial killer, but I’m still willing to offer you a place to crash. Although,” he says, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms over his solid chest, “I’m questioning whether that’s a good idea considering you’re already a pain in my arse.”
