Page 6 of Stealing Cinder

We sit there, her thumb stroking the back of my hand, neither of us speaking. We don't need to. My grief, her longing, the empty spaces our fathers left behind. All of it passes between us in silence.

I don’t know what keeps her from chasing her happiness, but that can be a conversation for another time.

"I have to tend to the members." She slides off the stool, smooths her dress, and slips the professional mask back into place over raw emotions lurking behind her lashes. "You'll be okay?"

"Always."

The look she gives me says she knows better but loves me too much to call bullshit to my face. I watch her go. Her red hair catches the violet light as she weaves through the lounge. I understand how a person can silently drown in emotions, but I can’t save her when I’m already going under myself.

I lift a hand and the handsome bartender drifts over, another dirty martini in hand. “Here you go, gorgeous.”

“Thank you.” Damn, that man makes life look easy.

Two sips into my second martini and my phone buzzes against the marble. A message from the dating app.

Here. Where are you sitting?

Right. The whole reason I'm at the Gilded Key on the worst day of my life. I type back my location, set the phone face down, and straighten on my stool. Shoulders back. Chin up. My reflection stares at me from the infinite mirror behind the bar, pale blonde hair still scraped into its low bun, black dress, and red-rimmed eyes I can't do a damn thing about.

Whatever. He just needs to be warm and willing and gone by sunup. The bar is low. Subterranean, even.

And yet...

A tall man rounds the corner of the bar and I catch his reflection in the mirror before I turn.

When I do, ugh. My stomach drops. This night just went from shitty to freaking pathetic.

My blind date has on a wrinkled button-down that is half untucked from dark slacks that look like he slept in them. His black tie hangs loose around his neck to the point of dangling. I take my eyes off the clothes to find his jaw shadowed with patchy stubble, like he thought about shaving, gave it a go and then decided fuck it.

Bloodshot eyes scan the bar until they land on me, and a sloppy grin stretches across his flushed face. He rakes a hand through flat brown hair and misses the piece sticking up at the back.

Stabs of regret shoot through me. This is my knight in shining armor. Wonderful.

He drops onto the seat Lavender just left, and the smell hits before his ass hits the leather. Bourbon, sharp and stale, layered over cheap cologne and the sour bite of sweat soaked into fabric.

Kill. Me. Now.

"Well." He rakes his gaze over me. Chin to chest and back. Slow, deliberate, and utterly graceless. "You look like a stuck-up housewife in that black dress and black heels. Where's the lingerie? This is a sex club, sweetheart, not a PTA meeting."

Acid spills across my raw nerves. My fingers tighten around my glass.

I only wanted a single night. I wanted a stranger's hands and a few hours of oblivion.

Damn it.

I should have known better than to swipe right on a man whose profile picture was a mirror selfie in a gym bathroom. But his abs were so cute.

He reaches across the short distance between us and clamps sweaty digits around my thigh.

"Come on. Loosen up." He nudges my drink aside and flags the bartender, who takes one look at him and doesn't move. "Let me buy you a real drink and we can get out of here."

I shift my leg away and angle my body toward the bar. "I have a drink."

"Don't be like that." He closes the distance between our stools. His knee presses against mine and he leans in until his bourbon breath rolls hot and stale against the side of my neck.

Gag me.

Every hair on my nape stands straight. His hand lands on my thigh, clammy fingers digging into the muscle through the thin fabric of my dress. My scowl must read as encouragement, because he squeezes with a possessiveness that makes my skin crawl under his grip.