Page 10 of The Last Kiss

He turns, man hulk spinning on his stool so he can look at me better. Please don’t look at me, I think I’m purple. “Are you eating?”

“Not right now.” My gaze drops to his lap. It’s a total dick sweep. I have no shame.

I think I might be in shock. After all, I’ve just received some bad news… it’s likely my brain will struggle to compute the information it’s been given. What was that news again?

Don’t know. Don’t care. I’m busy working out bulges under navy.

You’re going to die, Julianna. Oh yeah, that.

That buzzing fills my ears again and I clutch onto the brass rail around the bar while my vision tinges with black. I’m pretty sure the man mountain sighs. “Would you like to share a meal?” Would shuu like to zare ameel?

“With me?” I look up, so navy trousers are replaced with navy eyes.

“We are both sitting here together, no?”

“Ugh.” The fire from the drink evaporates, my tongue dries, head pounding around the edges of my sanity. I can’t think of a single word I know. “Ugh.”

Say no… Say no…

But… Julianna… you’re going to die remember? There’s a loud voice sitting on my right-hand shoulder, but I can’t remember if that’s the devil side or the angel side. You could have sex… No! Dinner! With a beautiful Frenchman. I mean…

Pretty sure the Freudian slip came from the devil.

I nibble my bottom lip. I’ve taken too long to answer his question now. He is beautiful, I debate with myself. I’m not into insta-attraction. That’s for romance books and people who’ve taken too many drugs and have melted their brain. But he is beautiful, nonetheless.

“I don’t share chips.”

He smiles. My God what a smile. With his hand leaning on the bar, he waves long fingers for the barman. “A bottle of mineral water please, and then a table for two.” He holds up two long fingers like he’s talking to a small child.

The barman looks between us and then pouts in my direction. I know, buddy. I’m not sure what’s happening here either.

The water arrives fast, and Man Mountain pours me a glass and slides it across the shiny wooden surface of the bar. “Here, I think you might need this.” His long fingers loop around the glass bottle. “I didn’t realise the brandy would put you on your ass.”

“Ugh, brandy. I hate that stuff.”

“You drank it.” An expressive eyebrow lifts. Can eyebrows be expressive? Is that a thing? He makes it a thing.

Despite not moving his stool, he’s in my space. The back of my neck is prickling and I’m having to tilt my head to roam my gaze across the surface of his face. And believe me I’m roaming—I’m 4x4’ing that damn landscape with barely concealed scrutiny.

Holding out his hand, he opens his mouth. I guess he’s going to do the polite thing and introduce himself to the woman he’s just invited to share a meal.

Except, I don’t want to be that woman. She no longer has a future. She no longer has anything.

“No, wait.” I hold my hand palm up. “Can we, ugh.” How to say this without it sounding various levels of wrong. “Not do names?”

Well, that doesn’t sound wrong at all… not.

That eyebrow dances, his full lips curving at the edges and making me lean forward unwittingly. There are soft lines around his mouth, lines made with smiles and laughter. Scattered in the skin stretching from the corner of his eyes to his hairline are more crinkles, each one I’m sure has a story to tell.

“No names?” Laughing, crinkling those eyes, he pushes a hand through his dark hair, teasing it into a military stand of attention with his long fingers.

What it would feel like to touch. Silk. Satin. Something soft and ticklish?

With a shrug, he reaches out to shake my hand and my heart pounds as I slip my small hand into his large bear paw.

Another shrug. “No names.”

“Sorry, it sounds wrong.” God. Kill me.