Page 14 of When the Storm Breaks
I run my fingers along the worn edge of the bar, the splintered wood catching under my touch—something solid while everything else spins. I lean back, eyes on the door, half-expecting her to walkthrough it. I can picture her now: lost, like a deer in headlights. Beautiful. Stubborn. Fumbling. Like a damn puppy trying to figure out her next step. Clueless, but still, somehow, endearing.
I haven’t stopped thinking about her. The softness of her body pressed against mine. The sweet gin on her tongue.
A smirk tugs at my mouth as I turn toward the bottles lining the back wall, but it drops the second the door chimes. My eyes snap up, catching the door’s reflection in the mirror.
Fuck.I forgot to lock it.
But then I see her.
Last night, she was meek.
This morning, there’s fire in her eyes.
Her hair’s a mess, like she barely bothered to tame it—but even disheveled, she’s the most breathtaking woman I’ve ever seen. My gaze drags from her white sneakers up to the grey sweatpants hanging low on her hips. Loose fabric, hiding the curves I got too close to last night.
That tight, little long sleeve she’s got on barely covers her. And her nipples—hard, almost visible through the thin material.
Fuck.
My gaze lingers on her chest a second too long, and she catches it.
Her eyes skitter away from mine, landing on the coat tossed over the back counter.
I lean back, letting a wicked grin spread across my face as she walks closer.
“Can’t get enough of me, huh?”
She freezes mid-step, a flush creeping up her neck, frustration painting her cheeks pink.
“I didn’t come here for you,” she snaps, her voice tight.
I chuckle, quiet and low, enjoying the fire in her words. This is a different side of her. Last night, she was hesitant, but this? She’s a fucking spitfire.
I push off the bar, taking a few steps toward her.
“Sure, Calla. Whatever you say.”
I stop right in front of her, close enough to make her squirm. She crosses her arms over her chest, protective.
“Can you just give me my coat?” she says tightly. “I have things to do today.”
I pause, something stirring under my ribs—frustration, maybe, though I’m not sure if it’s for her or at her. I turn away, walk back to the bar, and make a show of grabbing her coat, tossing it over the counter.
“All right, all right. Here,” I say, voice laced with amusement.
She catches it easily, ripping it out of the air. A spitfire, for sure.
She pulls it on but pauses, one arm in one sleeve, the other hanging loose. “What’s your name?”
I smile wider this time, the curve of it dark, almost mocking. I wait her out, letting the silence do what I can’t.
Bitterness creeps into her expression, her curiosity battling her irritation.
“Guess you’ll have to come back and find out,” I say, turning back to the bottles behind me, pretending to care about whatever the hell I was doing before she walked in.
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a crack in the mask before she turns away.
“Goodbye, then.” It’s soft but determined.
