Page 9 of Unearthed Dreams
The intensity of his gaze made it hard to think straight. I caught the faintest whiff of his cologne—something woodsy and masculine that made me want to bury my face in his neck.Focus, Charlie.
“Indefinitely, I guess.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile that did dangerous things to my insides.
He hummed. That’s all. Still, as his eyes continued holding mine hostage, he had my pulse racing.
Sarah cleared her throat. “Can I get you anything, Kai?”
The way she batted her long, dark lashes at him made me instantly wish I had applied a coat of mascara before leaving the house.
“Water, please.”
“Water?” I blurted, then winced. “What about a cider? It’s a cidery opening, after all.”
“Don’t drink.” The words were clipped, matter-of-fact.
I snorted before I could stop myself. “But you run a bar.”
His presence should have made me nervous. Men always made me nervous—boys, I corrected myself. Trevor and his fumbling attempts at flirting. The guys in my creative writing workshops who mansplained storytelling techniques. But something about Kai’s direct manner put me at ease.
He shrugged and turned as Sarah set his water in front of him.
“Thanks,” he gruffed.
She didn’t seem to mind his temperament—her attention fixed on his mouth as he took a large gulp. I shifted my attention to him just in time to watch his Adam’s apple bob with a final sip.
“You are very welcome,” Sarah purred.
She was certainly his type. Tall, thin, with long blonde hair and a perfectly made-up face. The green monster that had taken up residence in the pit of my stomach suggested I toss the liquid from my glass right in her pretty face.
But just as the idea crossed my mind, Kai all but dismissed Sarah, fixing his gaze on me.
“Good to see you again.”
Then he started to walk away.
Don’t let him go.The thought spurred me into action. I scrambled off my stool, my foot catching on the metal rung. The world tilted as I pitched forward.
One strong hand caught me before I could face-plant. Heat radiated through my thin t-shirt where his palm pressed against my side. When I straightened, I had to crane my neck back to meet his eyes as he set both our drinks safely back on the bar top.
“Wow, you’re tall.”
“Thanks. You’re short.” The ghost of amusement flickered across his face.
“How old are you?” The question tumbled out before my brain could filter it.
The corner of his mouth quirked just a tiny bit—not enough to be considered a grin, but I’d take the implication. “Thirty-two. Why?”
I gestured toward his head, where his hair was nearly white. His expression clouded slightly. “Genetics are a bitch.”
“Why don’t you dye it?”
“Why the fuck would I do that?”
My face flamed. “I don’t know… to look… better?”
“Are you saying it looks bad?”
