Page 47 of Deceiver

Then I can worry about what comes next.

Even if that upends everything I’ve finally pieced back together again.

10

“Can you run out theback and grab a few more bottles of alcohol?” Luna asks me later that night as the club is pumping.

It’s going to be a busy night, and we’re already powering through alcohol quickly. Nodding, I do as she asks, and rush out back. I get a few bottles that have run out, and make my way back out, stacking them on the shelves behind the bar. I serve a few customers and begin washing a few glasses when I catch a familiar face in the corner of my eye, one that wasn’t there a few minutes ago.

As if I’m being taken back to months ago, to the place I first saw him, I focus on the man sitting at the end of the bar, a glass of whiskey in front of him. Instead of looking down at that glass, he’s looking right at me. I haven’t seen Western in here since my article came out, and I sure wasn’t expecting him. He looks just like he did the first time I saw him, and I can’t stop my heart from automatically fluttering as I lay eyes on him.

I can’t help it.

There is something about him that sparks a desire deep within me, and even though I can fight it, it doesn’t mean it won’t linger there, probably for the rest of my life.

Western has a hold on me, but I have to stop it before I am unable to escape.

Luna comes up beside me and leans in close. “He just came in. Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say, dragging my gaze away from Western’s and getting back to work.

He can sit there all night, but that doesn’t mean I have to go over there. Instead, I keep myself busy, serving and cleaning, for hours. I let Luna serve him, and she does so without question. When the night quiets down, I know I can’t avoid him any longer. He will sit there until this place closes then follow me to my car; of that, I’m sure. I am exhausted. I want to go home and sleep, so I guess it’s best to face this now. Throwing my towel down after wiping the bar, I walk over to where he sits, stopping in front of him.

His eyes slowly lift until they’re locked with mine.

There was a time I couldn’t get him to look at me, to talk to me, and now he’s here ... waiting for me to be the one to talk.

How the tables have turned.

“If you’re here to demand something of me, I’m going to turn around and leave,” I say to him. “I’m tired, and I don’t want to get into anything tonight.”

“I’m not leavin’ until you speak to me.”

“Can we not do this now?” I grind out. “I’m keeping my distance for a reason, Western.”

“I’m not,” he drags out, “leavin’ ... until you speak to me.”

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