Page 8 of Josephine and Clay

Dangerously so.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Clay says, low enough that it barely cuts through the hum of the bar.

I don’t look at him right away. If I do, I’ll get pulled back into whatever this is, and I need a second to get my footing.

“I’m not,” I lie.

He huffs out a quiet laugh beside me. “You are.”

I finally turn my head.

Mistake.

He’s closer than I expect. Close enough that I can see the tiny scar at the edge of his eyebrow, the way his dark hair falls just slightly out of place like it refuses to be tamed, the sharp line of his jaw shadowed by the kind of stubble that looks intentional but probably isn’t.

And his eyes…

They are… wow. So blue I could easily get lost in them. Bright. Intense. The kind that don’t just look at you, but through you. Like he’s already figured me out.

I straighten slightly on instinct, crossing one leg over the other like that’ll somehow give me back control of the situation. “You don’t know me well enough to make that call.”

“Don’t I?” he murmurs.

The way he says it makes my stomach dip.

Annoying.

I take a slow sip of my drink, buying time. “No.”

“You like control.”

I blink. “That’s a bold assumption.”

He shrugs. “You hold your glass like you’re afraid of spilling it.” His gaze flicks down briefly before coming back up. “You keep looking at the door like you’re reminding yourself you can leave whenever you want.”

Heat creeps up the back of my neck.

I hate that he noticed that.

“I just got here,” I say.

“You’ve been ready to go since I sat down.”

I turn fully toward him now, narrowing my eyes. “And yet I’m still here.”

That earns me a slow smile. “There it is. The part of you that’s curious.”

My pulse stutters.

It’s ridiculous.

I’ve known him… what? An hour? Maybe less. And somehow, he’s already inside my head like he belongs there.

I should shut this down, finish my drink, thank him for the conversation, and go home.

Instead, I hear myself ask, “And what does that say about me?”

“That you don’t do this often.”