Page 4 of Jace
I adjust my glasses, run my hand through my hair, and try to sink deeper into Jane Austen’s world. Anne Elliot’s quiet strength usually calms me, but tonight, my nerves are buzzing, and it’s not just the bar’s chaos.
It’shim.
I felt his eyes on me the second I looked up from my book. He’s across the room, leaning against the bar like he owns the place, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with tattoos snaking down his arms and a leather vest that screams trouble.
His dark hair is mussed, like he just rolled out of a fight or a bed, and his jaw is sharp enough to cut glass.
But it’s his eyes—piercing, predatory—that make my stomach flip. And those eyes are staring at me, unapologetic, like I’m the only thing in this smoky hellhole worth looking at.
I drop my gaze back to my book, my cheeks burning.
I’m not used to this kind of attention—not from guys like him.
In college, I dated safe boys, the kind who wore khakis and talked about law school. Kind of similar to me in fact.
Thisguy though?
He’s the opposite of safe. He’s the kind of man who’d burn the world down and grin while doing it. I sneak another glance, and he’s still watching, a slow smirk curling his lips.
My heart stumbles.
God, he’s trouble. And the kind of trouble I should run from…
So why can’t I look away?
I force myself to read, but the words blur. My mind’s spinning, caught between curiosity and caution.
I came to Willow Creek to teach, to make a difference, not to get tangled up with some bad boy who probably has a rap sheet longer than my syllabus.
But there’s something about him—something raw, magnetic—that makes my skin hum. I’m not naive. I know what men like him want: a quick thrill, a conquest. I’m not that boy…
At least, I don’tthinkI am.
The air shifts, and I know he’s coming before I see him. His presence is like a storm rolling in, heavy and inevitable and potentially even dangerous unless I stay alert.
I keep my eyes on my book, but my pulse races as his boots thud closer. The booth creaks as he slides in across from me, uninvited, his leather scent—oil, smoke, and something distinctly male—cutting through the bar’s haze.
I glance up, and those eyes hit me like a punch, dark and intense, with a glint of amusement.
“Gotta say, boy’,” He says, his voice a low, gravelly drawl that sends a shiver down my spine, “You’re the last thing I expected to find in a place like this.”
I push my glasses up, trying to steady myself. He’s even more overwhelming up close—tattoos curling across his forearms, a faint scar on his knuckles, and that smirk that says he’s used to getting what he wants.
But I’m not some bimbo boy who’ll melt under a hot guy’s gaze.
I tilt my chin, meeting his eyes. “And you’re exactly what I expected,” I say, keeping my voice cool despite the heat creeping up my neck. “Leather, tattoos, and a corny line ready to go.”
He laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that feels like it could shake the walls. “You got me there. But a guy’s gotta try when he sees a boy like you. What’s your name, bookworm?”
I hesitate. Giving him my name feels like stepping onto a tightrope, but there’s a challenge in his gaze I can’t resist. “Caleb,” I say, letting a small smile slip through, just enough to keep him guessing.
I know this is terrible and I know for sure that this man is serious trouble, but I can feel my cock hardening inside my pants. It’s almost like the more I see how wrong this guy is, the harder I get.
Shit.
Stay cool you idiot.
