Page 32 of South of The Skyway

Rhyett was…nothing, if not satisfying to look at. Then again, so was art. And art came with no complications and zero chance of accidentally incubating a human after admiring it closely.

The space was gorgeous and modern. Red lights illuminated the underside of the bar, in the otherwise low-key room. Stunning vases with otherworldly floral displays sat on every table as bustling servers moved from one to another, enormous kabobs of sizzling meat in their hands. The culprit of the tantalizing aroma, no doubt. When we reached the far corner, Rhyett slid out of his little booth, standing in greeting. Before I knew it, he’d reached forward, slinking a long arm around my waist and pulling me in for a hug that felt way more familiar than it had a right to. His lips against my forehead had a disproportionate impact on my ability to regulate my breathing.

As he released me, he admitted, “Gotta say, Brex, I’m pretty relieved to see you.”

“You invited me, didn’t you?”

“Didn’t think you’d actually show.”

“Disappointed?”

“In your company? Never.”

I diverted my eyes to the deep reds and oranges of the flower arrangement. But the momentary distraction did nothing to alleviate the feeling of his eyes on me as swanky jazz music trailed over the air. Priscilla, the life-size doll, motioned to the opposite side of the table. She turned to leave, politely telling us our server would be right over in a voice that belonged on airline speakers.

“Beautiful,” I said stupidly, motioning to the arrangement. If I wasn’t positive the man was human; I would've been fairly convinced he had X-ray vision, the lingering gaze stripping every inch of clothing between us.

“Not as beautiful as my view,” Rhyett said softly, his hand settling at the low of my back as he guided me to my seat, sending heat flushing through my body like a shockwave. Breathless, and cursing myself for it, I glanced up to where I knew he was still staring at me.

“Thank you.”

“I mean it.”

“I know. Thank you.”

I’d no sooner hit the upholstered bench than our waiter stepped up, eyes on me as Rhyett returned to his place across the table. “Can I get you something to drink?”

We both glanced down to see a mostly full glass of scotch.

“Martini, please.”

“Yes, ma’am. Anything else for you two, or do you need a moment?”

“That’ll do for now, Scotty. Thanks,” Rhyett said, oozing confidence as if he had it in spades. And he knew the server on a first-name basis. What was that about?

“Scotty?” I questioned when he’d vanished into the sea of chaotic choreography.

“Good kid. Going to school here. Family over in Palm Beach.”

“I should’ve known you couldn’t be left unattended for even a moment before befriending the staff.”

“Best to have friends in all places.”

“Your philosophy sounds like more fun.”

“What’s yours?” He laughed, replacing the napkin on his lap and casually snagging the glass off the table.

“I have a habit of avoiding humans, pretty much at all costs.”

“You run a thriving shop,” he pointed out.

“At all costs, after work. I dunno. It’s different when I have a job to do—something to keep my hands occupied—and an automatic common interest.”

“Smutty books.”

I laughed aloud before slapping a hand across my mouth. “Yeah,” I muttered. “You paid attention.”

“I have a habit of doing that when something is important to me.” If eyes could leave holes, his would've drilled right through me. Holy shit, he was intense. Meeting that piercing blue gaze, I had the sneaking suspicion that everything Rhyett did would be with the same caliber of focus.

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