Page 5 of Untroubled Heart

I was done trying to hold space for someone I barely knew, especially when he held no such space for me.

The crowd shifts, creating a gap at the front of the bar, so I squeeze in and wait until one of the staff notices me, raising my hand each time they pass, only to be ignored for someone taller than five-foot-five.

A guy on the stool beside me lifts a hand in the air, and two seconds later, a waitress comes over. My mouth drops as I take him in while he orders a beer.

Oh, I see how it is. Apparently, you need to look like that to get any attention here. I’m mad whilst at the same time completely understanding. He’s gorgeous. I’d ignore everyone else, too.

“There you go.” The waitress places the guy’s drink in front of him, so I lean in, ready to claim her attention next, annnnd she moves to the person waiting on his other side. Fantastic.

“Well, that’s alright. I wasn’t that thirsty anyway,” I mutter to myself.

“What was that?” The question comes from a voice that is the embodiment of effortless and cool. It’s a raspy drawl that lingers on every nerve ending, and when I turn my head to meet the face of the person who just spoke… Holy. Shit.

From his side profile, he looked like a classic Hollywood heartthrob. Chiselled clean-shaven jaw, straight nose, and deep-brown hair with a slight wave to it. It’s styled in a way that looks like he’s run his hands through it, and the strands have just stayed there, loose, tousled, and soft. Front on, however, he is truly devastating. Those eyes. Mismatched and hypnotising. The left eye is a muted green, haunting and calm, but his right eye is blue. It’s vivid and full of mischief.

“Did you say something?” He smiles, waiting.

Shit, he’s rendered me speechless with his perfect looks—something I’m certain he’s used to.

“No.” I shake my head. “I was just waiting for the bartender to notice me.”

He turns on his seat, giving me his full attention as his eyes drag from my feet back to my eyes. The art of subtlety is clearly lost on this guy.

“What are you drinking?” he asks, eyes so intently focused on me, as if he’s locked in on a mission. I’ve met guys like this before, the ones that ooze confidence built purely from never having been denied, and guess what, that shit doesn’t work on me. Not after my ex.

“Three margaritas,” I say, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

He tilts his head. “Thirsty? Or are you stocking up for the night in case the staff keeps ignoring you, though I’m not sure how they’re managing that.”

I’ll give it to him, he’s smooth.

“I’m out with my girlfriends tonight,” I say, no room for misinterpretations of what I’m here for.

He nods, then searches over my shoulder down the bar and lifts a hand. Only a few seconds pass when another bartender comes straight to him.

“Are you kidding me?” I say, turning to him as I cross my arms over my chest once the bartender steps away to make our drinks. “For you, they come?”

He leans an elbow on the bartop, clutching his chin in one hand as he winks. “Jealous?”

My cheeks are on fire as I hear the double entendre of my last statement mixed with his response.

“Hardly.” I scoff, hoping the lighting in here is dim enough that he can’t see the way I’m blushing. It’s infuriating to admit, even in my head, that just because I won’t entertain an obvious playboy, doesn’t mean I won’t blush from the attention.

Stupid hormones.

I’m going to put it down to the simple fact that it’s the first time I’ve gotten dressed up and gone out in my post-partum body. After months of going through rapid, confusing, and sometimes uncomfortable changes, it’s nice to be looked at with appreciation. Though I’m not sure I trust how honest it is. Perhaps I look single, and that’s enough.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” he says. Truly groundbreaking flirting, ladies and gentlemen.

“That’s because I’ve never been here.” I match his stance, resting my arm on the bartop. He’s still taller than me, seated on the stool while I’m standing. “You’re clearly here a lot if you know you’ve never seen me.”

He leans in closer, bringing the scent of something fresh and clean with him. There’s mint, but also a hint of something spicy and earthy like patchouli, along with a subtle sweetness. It’s complex, sophisticated, and, I loathe to admit it, fucking delicious.

“No one would forget a pretty girl like you in a hurry.”

The most unladylike, undignified snort erupts from the back of my throat.

“Thank you,” I say as the bartender sets one of the margaritas in front of me. “I’m sure many women fall all over you by now. I mean, let’s be real, you probably just need to look at them, and it’s a done deal, but I can assure you, the effort is wasted on me tonight.”