Lark has always had a laser focus on her goals. She knows what she wants and how to get it - though sometimes she's too afraid to take the risk. Maybe Roman Oshiro - who is risk personified - is just what the nurse ordered.
W A R N I N G
Explicit se...
I turn away from the tattered label to Roman, finding him only a foot away from me. I'm not sure if the closeness is my doing, but I unclasp the bottle as if it burns my skin. "Sure," I acquiesce and swoop my arm around my head, pulling the loose bottom half of curls to the other shoulder.
"With merlot off the menu, what's your second choice?"
A subtle smile cracks my lips, but I'm sure to move another inch away as I reposition myself again. "Tequila and tonic."
"You heard the woman, Gare. And find a nice lime for it. Green, not brown. And I'll pay extra for a real glass."
Gare shakes his head in annoyance, but he clearly recognizes Roman's playfulness; a smile accompanies him as he walks down the bar. He returns with all of the above, and I take a careful sip. I'm relieved to taste a middle-shelf tequila and lukewarm club soda. "Thank you," I say to both men. I notice no money is exchanged. Do they let the fighters drink for free? That doesn't seem like a good idea. My mouth twists in thought.
"Give me your number."
The request–or rather demand–catches me off guard and I fight to keep my most recent swig in my mouth. "Hard pass on that, sorry."
"Why?"
"I guess I haven't made it clear enough." I twist my body to face him and stare directly down the barrel of his deep brown eyes that are cusped by soft, currently-entertained laugh lines. I'm really hoping this move drives home my point. "I'm not interested."
His brows shoot up as if those words have never been spoken to him before. "Is that so?"
It was. Sure, I'd noticed his muscles bulge beneath his t-shirt when he made certain movements. I'd wondered how much of his clothed skin had felt the touch of a tattoo needle. I'd even shoved a gulp of desire down my throat when his tongue ran over his lips after every few sips of his drink. But Roman was the type of guy built for one night stands–a thing I was not very fond or familiar with. He was nameless sex and 1 AM texts. I was conversations over dinner and post-coital cuddling. "It is," I summarize my fluttering thoughts.
He still stares at me in near disbelief. "Then let me give you my number," he suggests, leaning in closer. "For whenever you need some excitement."
I giggle at the smugness of his offer, but know his ego will misread it. "No, that's ok," I reinforce.
"Shame. We could have a lot of fun..." The word lingers on his lips before his tongue flicks from the roof of his mouth to the floor of it.
I savor a slow drink from my glass and shrug my shoulders. "The night's young and there are willing women all over this city."
"But they're half as beautiful and not nearly as intriguing."
"Hmm." I roll my eyes and lift the tumbler to my mouth to hide any signs of a smile. By the time the tepid liquid reaches my stomach, the effect of the compliment has faded.
"I won't be able to get my mind off of you all night, Lark."
My head snaps to the side like a plucked rubber band and my eyes meet his. I'm equally surprised by the words as I am by him giving up. Wait. No– I remind myself. I don't want his company or his attention.
"I hope I see you again," are his optimistic last words before he lifts his cup to his mouth and disappears behind a group of people nearby.
"Yea, right," I mumble to myself and flick my lime wedge into my glass. Like I'd ever come to this place again.
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