Page 90 of When the Storm Breaks
For the next thirty minutes, I settle in and watch him work. He moves with precision and control, but I catch the way his eyes find me—when I move, when I speak, when someone comes a little too close.
He tries to hide it, but it’s there. Coiled just beneath the surface. The clench of his jaw. The slight flex of his fingers around a glass or shaker.
I thought sitting here while he worked would make me feel out of place, like I didn’t belong. But it’s the opposite.
It’s magnetic.
He looks good—maybe not happy, because I don’t think I’ve ever seen him truly happy—but focused. There’s something about the quiet confidence he moves with, the way the chaos around him doesn’t touch him, that makes him devastatingly attractive.
And with the way he keeps looking at me, I know I’m not the only one feeling it.
Just as I finish my drink and start to relax, something solid presses against the back of my chair.
A body.
I stiffen, instinctively shifting forward. But before I can get comfortable, another man stumbles into the space between me and the next seat, his movements clumsy.
At first, I think he’s just trying to get closer to the bar.
But then his eyes land on me.
And stay there.
A slow grin spreads across his face, all confidence and assumption, like he’s already decided how this interaction is going to go. He leans in, his breath thick with liquor, the sour warmth of it curling in the air between us.
“A pretty girl like you alone on New Year’s?” His voice is smooth. Practiced. “That’s a tragedy.”
I tense, but force a polite smile, unwilling to make a scene. “Just enjoying the night.”
I glance down at my glass—only to remember it’s empty.
Damn it.
He doesn’t take the hint. Instead, he shifts even closer, his arm brushing against mine. His heat is cloying—sticky with alcohol and unwanted attention.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks, tilting his head like he already knows the answer.
The question catches me off guard. I pause for half a beat too long, but it’s enough. “No, but—”
His arm suddenly snakes around my shoulder, reeling me in like we’re old friends.
My entire body locks up just as his voice drops, too close to my ear.
“Then let me introduce myself…” he says, fingers squeezing mybare shoulder. “… as your new boyfriend. Don’t worry—I’ll let everyone know you’re off the market.”
I flinch, instinctively leaning away. But his grip tightens. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear he isn’t letting go just yet.
A quick glance around tells me no one’s paying attention. The bar is a blur of noise, laughter, movement. The crowd sways and shifts, too wrapped up in their own celebrations to notice this small moment where everything feels like it’s falling apart.
I try to shake him off subtly, turning slightly, shifting my weight.
“I’m really not interes—”
Glass shatters behind the bar.
The sound barely registers before a fist flies past me, connecting hard with the man’s face.
The impact is sickening—bone crunching, a wet crack, a pained gasp. Blood splatters instantly, dark against his skin. He stumbles back, catching himself on the edge of a stool, one hand cupping his ruined nose.
