For a split second, I consider telling him. There's something about Dane that makes me want to spill my guts, which is precisely why I shouldn't. I've learned the hard way that trust is a luxury I can't afford.
Before I can fumble for a response, the universe throws me a lifeline. The door swings open, and a group of guys stumble in, laughing and shoving each other. They're already three sheets to the wind, and I can smell the impending tequila orders from here.
"Duty calls," I say, grateful for the interruption. I straighten up, slipping back into professional bartender mode. "Try not to solve all the world's problems while I'm gone, okay? Leave some for the rest of us mere mortals."
As I move to greet the new arrivals, I feel Dane's eyes following me. It sends a shiver down my spine, not entirely unpleasant, but definitely dangerous.
Get it together. Sling drinks and pay tuition, not play twenty questions with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Definitely Complicated.
I plaster on my best "welcome to the bar" smile and turn to face the rowdy bunch. "What can I get for you gentlemen tonight?"
I mix drinks on autopilot, my hands moving through the familiar motions of pouring, shaking, and garnishing. It's muscle memory at this point—I've bartended in other joints—which is good because my mind is definitely elsewhere.
I finish up with the frat boy brigade, sending off a silent prayer that they don't puke or get into a fight. As I wipe down the bar, my eyes drift back to where Dane was sitting, half-hopingto see those storm-gray eyes watching me again. But nope. He's slunk back to his brooding corner.
Disappointment hits me.
Wait, why do I even care? It's not like I was looking forward to more conversation or anything. Nope. Not me. I'm just... curious. Yeah, that's it. Professional curiosity. Gotta keep tabs on the customers, right?
I snort at my own bullshit. Who am I kidding? There's something about that man that, after one short conversation, has me intrigued. And that's precisely why I should keep my distance.
The night wears on, and I fall into the familiar rhythm of bartending. Pour, shake, serve, repeat. It's mindless work, which is dangerous because it gives my brain too much free time to wander in a very specific, very risky direction.
I glance over at Dane's corner for what feels like the millionth time tonight. Fuck. He's watching me. Those sharp eyes are locked on me like I'm some kind of puzzle he's trying to solve. It sends a shiver down my spine, and I'm not entirely sure if it's fear or... something else.
Okay, I think it's more than fear, but that's exactly why I need to stop exchanging glances with him. I've got enough complications in my life without adding someone like him to the mix.
I catch his gaze again as I'm mixing a cosmo for a giggling woman. There's something predatory in the way he looks at me, like he wants to eat me. It's unnerving as hell, and yet... part of me kind of likes it. Which is all kinds of messed up.
"You!" The woman's voice snaps me back to reality. "Can I get, like, extra cherries in that?"
I plaster on my best customer service smile. "Coming right up."
As I garnish her drink, I steal another glance at Dane. He's still watching, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Great. He totally knows I find him hot.
I hand off the cosmo and decide it's time for a little offensive strategy. Two can play at this game, right? I saunter over to his corner, channeling every ounce of confidence I can muster.
"You know, if you keep staring like that, I'm gonna have to start charging admission," I say, jutting my hip.
What the hell am I doing? I'm supposed to be on the other side of the counter.
Dane's eyebrows shoot up, but that smirk doesn't fade. "Just trying to figure you out, Lila."
"Yeah? And how's that going for you?"
He takes a slow sip of his whiskey, never breaking eye contact. "I'm normally good at this sort of thing, but you seem... complicated."
I snort. "Buddy, you have no idea."
"I'd like to," he says, and there's a heat in his voice that makes my stomach do a little flip.
Danger, Will Robinson. Abort mission.
I straighten up, putting some much-needed distance between us.
You big chicken. You should've stayed put.
"Well, too bad," I say. "I'm an unsolvable mystery. Like crop circles or why people still watch reality TV."
