“Let’s have it.” He rests his chin in hand, elbow propped on the table.
Damn, he’s distracting. Ben’s not the usual sort I go for—not that I have a type—but he’s lightly built, slim, almost graceful. He’s attractive, definitely, but in a more unconventional and nonconforming way. With his hat off, I can see a few black streaks through his blond hair, his soft jumper’s neckline revealing his collarbone with the scarf to the side. I’d love to chase that with my tongue. Maybe later, if I don’t make things too awkward again.
His smile gets bigger and I drink hurriedly to cover my moment of gawping over him. I’m sure he knows what’s just happened, but never mind. I’ll cover.
“Who are your musical influences?” I ask. An absolutely sensible, stand-up question to ask a musician. Nothing overly personal about it. Safe.
Ben tilts his head, considering. “Probably Bowie was the first one. Love him.”
“I suspected. Confirms my Bowie hypothesis.”
“Probably the others might surprise you a little. I love guitar, but singers…wow. I’m a huge fan of Florence and the Machine—she has such a big voice. And Nina Simone.”
“Interesting.” It’s not what I’d expected him to say. The more he gives me, the more curious I become about him. This could very easily become addictive. I’ve got to make sure that doesn’t happen. One night. That’s my cutoff. One night of indulgence and no more. That’s all I can afford to spare. Too many things need tending.
“How about you, Charlie?” His expression is open and soft as he listens.
Oh fuck.
He’s getting to me, even with my resolutions, like he really does want to know about me. And that makes me feel a little flutter in my gut, if I’m honest with myself. The way he says my name in that Scottish accent… But keeping to epic sexual encounters, which I’m totally down for, I could take him over this table here and now and put on an early performance for the Crobar crowd that’s gathering. Instead of making a public spectacle, I keep my trousers on, thinking of my answer.
“It’s so hard to choose. There’s loads.” I fidget with my pint glass. “I love anything sounding a little bittersweet. The Doves, Joy Division, Hozier. It’s more about how it feels, you know?”
“Oh, Hozier, aye. I hear all that,” Ben enthuses, nodding emphatically like he couldn’t agree more. “Absolutely. Music is pure emotion. And I love emotion, deep into my guts. All of them. It’s a great show when I can tell the audience is picking up what I’m feeling.”
I nod. “I know what you mean. Those are the best gigs. It’s amazing when the crowd’s totally into it. I mean, I’ve just played tiny hole-in-the-wall places. I still can’t believe you’ve seen me play.”
“Oh, aye. I catch loads of music. As much as I can, around work. And gigs and rehearsals.”
“What’s work, then? I guess that’s a regular job on top of music?”
“Regular enough, I suppose. Nothing fancy. I’m a bar man at a pub not far from here when I’m not playing,” Ben explains over his ale. “It’s not a posh office job or anything important like that, but I know how to mix drinks and serve pints and that suits me. Plus, I’m already up late playing with the band and going to gigs, so I figured the hours worked.”
“You’re smarter than I am. My job at the café is great because I can have all the hours and coffee I want—and it’s not bad around uni classes. Usually flexible,” I offer. “But shit, Saturday mornings are the worst part after being out on Fridays. Except…”
“Except?” Ben asks, his blue eyes rapt.
My breath catches. He’s distracting again. Still. Something.
Stop it.
“Except for you. That was worth all the rough Saturday mornings,” I say, sheepish.
Wow, why the hell did I just say that? Charlie, you’re only making this worse for yourself. You can’t actually afford to start to…actually like him.
He laughs, and it’s a rich reward that warms me from the inside out, here in our private corner of the bar. “Well, listen, I’ve had enough rough Saturday mornings myself after gigs, so. Occasionally, I do have to pull the lunch shift on Saturdays at the pub, and the rest of the time I have rehearsal, which is why I’ve been stopping by your café on the way in after I caught sight of you. Then, I just had to keep coming back.” Ben grins. “Even with the dodgy service that first time. There was just too much there to pass up, I ken.”
“Oh hell. I’m not gonna live that one down, am I?”
“Afraid not, mate.” He cracks up again, shaking his head. “Irresistible. And refreshing. I don’t ever get that, and I like it. I’m not letting you forget.”
Does that mean he thinks there will be more than this one day? Another day with Ben and me? That can’t be, though. But hell, the banter and the tease of Ben, so close that I can feel the burn of him on my skin from here… What does he look like minus the layers he’s wearing now, without that scarf with all the colors?
He shifts, and under the table he takes my hand where it rests on my thigh, and I can’t breathe with the warmth of his fingers. I can’t even make words and by the way that arsehole’s grinning he obviously knows what he’s doing to me.
“Two more questions,” he says, holding my gaze. His eyes are like the sea. Waves could break in them. I could drown. I have. And I could write all sorts of terrible poetry or songs about their depths without any regrets. Something’s wrong with me.
“’Kay,” I say, reeling. The fewer words, the less of a chance to sound like a fool.
