Page 10 of Wild Thing
My phone beeped again. Half expecting it to be a message from Taylor, I raised my eyebrows when I realized it was a text from Zack.
U there? I tracked your flight. Says you landed an hour ago…?
Yep. Here now, checking in etc.
You could have messaged me…?
Miss you already.
I cocked an eyebrow, seriously doubting that.
I waited a minute before I texted back a black heart emoji and headed out the door.
Three
DYLAN
The entrance to the lobby bar was ultra private. Discretion is luxury in these kinds of places.
As I made my way further inside, the air was thick with moisture thanks to the crowd seeking shelter from the rain. Heavily tinted windows overlooked the sidewalk outside. On a nice day, the view would have been beautiful. The river and park were just across the road, but on a ferocious day with torrential rain, it was hard to see anything as the windows were completely fogged.
Despite the bar being busy, it felt cozy. It had a speakeasy vibe, largely due to the low mood lighting and the stormyclouds outside. A perfect environment to contemplate my entire existence.
I hadn't always been this dramatic, but I had always been this sarcastic.
A crackling fireplace flickered in one corner, with a live jazz band playing in the other. The music was loud enough to give the venue atmosphere, but not so loud that it made talking impossible.
The bar itself was in the middle of the space, U shaped with alcohol bottles stacked on shelves in the center. I spied a private spot, nestled at the very back of the bar, against the far wall. Beelining for that space, I pulled myself up on the high-backed, red leather barstool.
The bartender greeted me warmly. “What can I get you, Miss?”
“A glass of Pinot Noir please.”
“Room charge?”
“Yes please. 1402.”
I avoided eye contact with the losers around me by admiring my fingernails.
And then it happened.
I felt him before I saw him.
Electromagnetic.
I slowly dragged my gaze over to the door. A supercharge sliced through the air. There he stood, all six foot three of him, drenched from the pouring rain. He ran a tattooed hand through his thick, inky black hair, brushing the excess water from himself. Droplets dripped down over his structured jawline.
I wanted to lick them off with my tongue.
His black t-shirt was almost soaked through, stuck to his chest, showing off chiseled, tattooed arms. He flicked his hands up and down the front of his dark blue jeans and wiped his feet on the floor in an attempt to dry his soaking body.
Damn.
He looked good.
Real good.
I caught myself staring and before I could pry my eyes away, he looked directly at me.
