Page 55 of A Man To Remember
I'm staring into space, lost in thoughts that won't form properly, when a hand waves in front of my face.
"You okay, man? You look like a ghost."
Sawyer's voice cuts through the fog in my brain, and I blink back to reality. He's standing right next to me, eyebrows raised.
"Mmm. Just...things on my mind."
He nods and doesn't push, which I'm grateful for. No chance in hell I'd be willing to explain the origin of my currentinternal state to anyone, let alone a coworker. Still, there's a pang of guilt in my chest. Sawyer's agreed to cover half my shift tonight. He deserves better than my distracted grunts and a thousand-yard stare.
The alarm on my phone buzzes against my thigh some unspecified time later, and my stomach drops. Time to go.
The anxiety cranks up another notch as I bolt toward the staff room, muttering athanksto Sawyer one last time on my way. It's like every cell in my body has its own consciousness and is acutely aware that I'm just one shower and one change of clothes away from something that isn't exactlybig, but feels enormous.
It takes me much longer than usual to get through my post-shift routine, my hands anything but steady as I wash and change.
My legs aren't doing much better as I walk through the club's maze of hallways, bumping into people, not really seeing them. My mind is already elsewhere.
The lights overhead flicker as I pass underneath them, casting strange shadows on the walls lined with doors I've never bothered to explore. The bass from the main floor vibrates through the soles of my feet, but it feels distant now, muffled by my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
A couple stumbles out of one of the rooms, giggling and adjusting their clothes, and I have to step aside to let them pass. They don't even notice me, too wrapped up in their own bubble of post-orgasmic bliss.
Must be nice to be that carefree about sex, that sure of what you want and how to get it.
I turn the last corner toward the blue door, and I'm just about to grab my phone to check the time, wondering if I'm too early, when the door opens and a tall, objectively attractive man steps out.
Which means I'm right on time.
I wait for the guy to walk past me, acknowledging him with an up-nod despite seeing him for the first time, which means one thing—I'm stalling.
With that, I turn the handle and enter.
My eyes find Austin immediately, even though he's in the corner fiddling with equipment. It's like my vision has been programmed to scan any space for that particular arrangement of dark hair and broad shoulders, to locate him before I consciously realize what I'm looking at.
He's packing up his camera gear. There's something almost meditative about the way he handles his equipment, like each piece has its exact place in his mental catalog. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and I can see the muscles in his forearms flexing as he winds up cables and closes cases.
He turns around and spots me, a smile spreading across his face as he walks toward the middle of the room. That smile does things to my nervous system that probably require a prescription.
We meet halfway, gravitating toward each other like we're following some invisible pull, and I'm about to lean in for a kiss hello when he ducks away with a grin that's both adorable and infuriating.
"Nuh-uh. Spill."
I grab his waist, pulling him closer. The solid warmth of him grounds me slightly, makes the anxiety subside just enough that I can think clearly.
Austin's hands settle on my hips, thumbs pressing into the bone.
"What's the rush, huh?" I tease. "I thought you loved surprises."
He rolls his eyes but doesn't let go of me. If anything, his grip tightens. "Talk."
My pulse quickens. I don't really have the guts to say it plainly, so I go for subtle.
Well, subtle for me.
"I did some shopping."
His head tilts like a confused puppy trying to work out a particularly complex trick.
"In my pocket."
