Page 26 of Tank
The collision had me on my feet and moving without any thought. The only thing I could think about was to protect the woman, but I had a feeling she wouldn’t take my help easily. Standing between the two of them, my back to the man, I was happy to see that other patrons had moved in to help. I gripped her shoulder holding her upright, though I knew she didn’t need it. She sucked in a barely noticeable breath at my touch, but I didn’t let go.
“Dad,” a female voice called out from the entryway and that was all it took for the man to calm down. Then he shuffled off and made his exit. “I’m so sorry…”
All she did was raise her hand to wave the woman off. That was when I saw the blood running down her arm. I snatched her hand, really in no mood to deal with this kind of distraction, and turned it over to inspect it.
“First Aid Kit?” I mumbled low but didn’t dare look up to see what kind of expression she was pinning me with.
“Uh, here,” someone said sliding the white plastic box across the bar top.
We didn’t speak as I cleaned the few cuts that dotted the tender part of her hand. I did my best to focus on the task and not how soft her skin felt against my calloused fingers. Or how her strange scent invaded my nose. Or the fact that her breathing was just a bit heavier and the fact that I could tell she was doing her best to hide it.
I didn’t care about any of those things. But I had no explanation why I’d jumped in and helped her. Why I had to be the one to see to her injury. Or why I was taking my time looking her over.
“It doesn’t look like there are any shards left behind,” I mumbled as I rubbed some ointment on them and covered them with a square piece of gauze and some tape.
I resisted the urge to bring her hand up to my lips and place a tender kiss on top of the bandage. It was a habit, that was what I told myself. I’d been doing that for years with my son, because he was convinced it made the hurt go away. With a deep sigh, I released her hand and made my way back to my stool. She was fixed now, she had no excuse to not bring me my damn drink.
I kept my head down as she walked around the bar and grabbed the abandoned bottle that was meant for me. She finally made her way over and stood right in front of me, but neither of us said anything. She didn’t thank me, which I was grateful as fuck for. I didn’t need to be thanked. Hell, maybe I shouldn’t have even helped her in the first place. But then again, that wasn’t the type of person I was.
She reached down under the bar and pulled out a squat glass, then gingerly set the glass on the bar. Pouring whiskey into the glass almost to the brim, she looked down at me, her head still held high. Before she could even set the bottle down, I snatched up the glass and tossed the whole thing back. I relished in the burn of it going down as I swallowed.
I set the glass back on the bar top with a heavy thud and stared at it as I waited for her to fill it up again. There was a long beat of us at a standoff of unmoving. Our bodies were frozen in place but the air around us seemed to crackle with a strange kind of energy. I slowly lifted my head to meet her eyes.
“Another,” I grunted. Her brow inched up in a way that seemed like a warning. That was when I noticed how full and beautifully sculpted her brows were. They sat perfectly on her face and made her round eyes more prominent. “Please,” I said trying to seem unaffected by the simple fact that her being a few feet away from me was too much for me to handle.
Her hand still gripped the neck of the bottle. Her pointer finger curled and her short nail tapped against the side three times before resting in a cocked position against the glass.
“Tell me something,” she said, her voice deep and low. It was like I could feel it all the way to my toes. But no, that was the whiskey hitting my blood. That was all.
I waited. Usually when someone said that it followed with a question of what it was that they what to know. But there was nothing. Was this like an open-ended thing? Was I supposed to fill in the blank?
I was in no mood for games. But strangely, it didn’t feel like she was playing one. She wasn’t interested in me like the clubwhores were. No, the look in her eye was sparkling with curiosity and that seemed to be the simplest truth of it.
Now, women throwing themselves at me, wanting a piece of my cut or dick, I could deal with—I knew what to do with. It was as simple as turning them down a few times, then they would curve their energy elsewhere, to someone who was an easier target. Someone who maybe even wanted them. But someone wanting to simply know something about me, especially a woman, was fucking Greek to me.
I squinted, looking deep into her stunning eyes. It was like I was hypnotized as I opened my mouth to speak.
“My son is dead and I can’t find a reason to live for.” My own words shocked me.
I blinked trying to clear my head. I had no idea why I’d just said that. It was the truth, but it was my truth that I wanted to keep hidden.
When I came back out of my thoughts, I saw her watching me. The look of shock that filled me was not shared by her. Or if it was, she hid it well. It was quite the confession, I thought. I expected to see sympathy or a horrid expression with mouth gaping and maybe even a bit of wetness in the eyes. That was what I was used to getting. I swallowed, finding myself more intrigued and a bit giddy about her.
She poured my drink.
I downed it.
Then waited for another.
Her hand was still wrapped around the bottle and the other pressed tightly into the edge of the bar as she leaned in a little closer. Not much, not enough that a normal person would notice, but I did. As I slyly studied her, I wondered if she was even aware that she’d done it.
“Name?” she asked after her eyes danced around my face with no reaction to what she was looking for or seeing.
Everything about her was hesitant and well thought out. I was used to women who were wild and had no problem spouting off whatever was on their mind. I had no idea what to do with this stoic statue in front of me.
I instinctively wet my lips. I may have been a bit nervous and intimidated.
“Ta-Noah.” I don’t know why at the last second I gave her my real name. The only person that called me that was my mom. I almost wished she would have said it back to me, just so I could hear how sweet it would be coming off of her lips. But she didn’t. Instead, she just gave me a short nod.
Needing to break whatever was going on, I pulled out my wallet and slapped a hundred down on the bar. Just like I had the week before.
“Leave it,” I growled and turned my attention elsewhere. Without another word, she turned and walked away, her head angled just the slightest bit like she was looking in the mirrored wall behind the bar. I found myself wanting to know her name. If only for the small fact that I would have something to call her in my head. “Yours?”
She paused. Her head turned further to the side as she looked over her shoulder, her wavy hair sliding behind her with the movement.
“Dya,” she supplied before continuing to walk away. The way she pronounced it with a bit of an accent made me pause.Dee-yah.What a strange name. But in a way, it seemed to suit her because she was a little odd and definitely unique.
I may have felt a twitch in my heart the moment her name spilled from her full mouth. But fuck if I knew why.
