Runaway

1

Not even the deepest part of my subconscious knew why I bothered to keep up that one lie. Who was I kidding?
I hated olives.
As I mindlessly began stabbing one with a toothpick, I reminded myself why I was doing it.
It's for the greater good, I heard my own voice say inside my head.
I had already made peace with the fact that I could no longer be the person I was yesterday, that I had to change multiple aspects of my life in order to feel safer.
It wasn't going to be an easy feat, but I knew I could do it. I had to.
It wasn't a game of pretend anymore, I couldn't just snap my fingers and go back to reality at will.
As much as a necessary evil erasing my previous life was, what was waiting for me if I ever stopped running was far worse.
And yet...yuck.
An involuntary shudder shook my body right when I popped that rounded abomination in my mouth. It got even worse when the juices exploded on my tongue.
It was beyond me how some people could just enjoy them so casually.
I felt so pathetic the moment I mentally expressed gratitude to the alcohol for numbing my senses.
And even worse when I realized I forced my body to endure that torture more than once.
The barman quickly raised his eyebrow at me in a silent question, to which I answered by waving my hand in defeat.
No thanks, I barely managed to think as I swallowed the chewed-up olive.
Twice was more than enough.
A grimace fought to take place on my face, but I promptly masked it by biting down on the toothpick.
I could still taste the salty brine, but the more I sucked on it the more the wooden notes became stronger.
Someone on the other side of the bar top yelled at their friends to quiet down as the local news began chanting the summary of that night's service.
I uncomfortably shifted on my seat and ignored the small screen above my head, blocking out the noise.
I already knew what they were going to report and couldn't bear to listen to it anymore.
Soon enough the interest around it would've ebbed. Or at least, that's what I hoped for.
A loud masculine voice suddenly came from behind me, making me jolt.
The toothpick snapped between my teeth as I bit down harder on it, forcing me to stop fidgeting with it.
Being jumpy was exactly what I didn't need in a new city. If I wanted to make a good impression on the locals, acting like a scaredy cat in a crowded bar was not the way to go.
Blending in was the goal.
Sticking out like a sore thumb was definitely not.
No need to panic.
You're not with him anymore.
He doesn't know where you are.
You're safe.
Regaining my composure, I started circling the edge of my glass with my finger.
Once clockwise. Twice counterclockwise. Repeat.
It went on like that for a few seconds, until a tall figure took a seat right beside me, making me throw all my good intentions out of the window.
They were so fast. Silent, too.
One would think to be a bit more gentle not to startle other customers, but this person wasn't "one".
Curiosity won as I let my eyes wander to the side to see who just sat to my right.
And I immediately wished I didn't.
A man with a stubble took that empty seat.
A well-yet-casually-dressed, beautiful man with a stubble.
Damn it.
Turning my head to the other side, I ignored the tinge of embarrassment creeping up on my face.
His movements were rough, but the dry spell I was on made me look at them — at everything, under a brighter light.
Not daring to turn around just yet, I heard the fabric of his shirt rustle as he moved again.
«An old fashioned,» the man ordered from my side.
Even his voice was rough, if possible.
«On the rocks, Master Chief?» I heard the bar man ask from afar.
The man next to me cursed him in a whisper.
I assumed he still nodded or something, considering the clinking noises coming from the counter telling me he was making his drink.
The reporter's voice snapped me back out of my trance, the news of an apartment catching on fire making everyone in the bar stop for a moment.
Apparently the landlord swore he saw the tenant going inside, but never coming out even after the fire was taken out.
On the other hand, the firemen that answered the call found nobody when they did a recon of the place.
The mystery around this whole story got everyone hooked and eager for updates. But not me.
Mentally cursing myself for looking up, the images of the burnt down apartment came into view. I shivered, taking my eyes away from the screen.
And right into the stranger's.
Looking down, I noticed he was was lowering the glass onto the polished wood.
A big block of ice was sitting in the middle of his drink, fogging up the edges of the glass with tiny droplets.
«You knew that woman?»
It took me a good moment to realize that his question was for me.
Looking up again, the man's attention was on me.
There was something about that feeling I couldn't quite pinpoint right away.
His gaze was fixated on me, then on my lips and return. But it also felt caging, as if he was interrogating me instead of starting a conversation.
His dark lashes were casting long shadows on his skin thanks to the horribly placed lights on the ceiling.
But before I could roam lower to the rest of his face, his brows knitted together in worry as he tilted his head to the side.
«What?» I asked out loud.
Hearing my voice come out like that, as if I was out of breath, made me feel so stupid.
Get it together.
The man moved his eyes around my face, his brows still furrowed.
When he seemed satisfied, he went back to looking at me.
«The one that's been missing for a couple of days in Roanoke. Her apartment caught on fire and she was nowhere to be seen,» he explained calmly.
Oh.
That was what he asked.
Needing a distraction, my fingers began tracing once again the rim of my own empty glass.
Same motion as always.
Once clockwise, twice counterclockwise.
I didn't know when it became a thing, but it was enough for me to know that it helped soothe my nerves.
Having something to keep myself busy was a must.
Putting on a mask I was well accustomed to, I turned to the man on my right and smiled knowingly.
«She's probably rolling around in someone's bed, can you blame her?»
A spark went across his eyes.
He didn't give me the impression of being fully convinced by my diversion, but he still offered a lopsided smile that curved his lips.
I hated to admit it, but he was beautiful.
«No,» he began shaking his head. «Guess not.»
Small wrinkles appeared in the corner of his eyes and his smile broadened.
«But you didn't answer my question.»
His body shifted to the side, offering me a front view of his chest.
A familiar uneasy feeling clawed at my stomach as I forced myself to not let go of the smile I was offering him.
«Never heard of her.»
If he was unsatisfied with my answer, he didn't show it.
Instead, he started mimicking my movements by caressing the edges of his glass, while never loosing my eyes.
I didn't know if the fear that was grappling my heart had anything to do with how I was feeling in that moment, but my head was spinning in confusion.
I was attracted to his demeanor, but the possibility of him delving deeper into that question was stopping me from making the first move.
Silence coated us like a bubble as we held eye contact.
His pupils dilated so much I could swear his gaze turned black for a second.
Like a moth to a lantern, I was allured by him, slowly getting closer to the edge of my seat.
His tongue darted out and slowly licked his lower lips.
They were glistening ever so slightly and part of me wondered if they still tasted like whiskey.
Maybe it wouldn't burn as much as my lower abdomen, I found myself thinking.
But before any of us could make the move that would bring us both over the edge, the hand of the barman came into view and stole my empty glass from under my nose.
I watched the back of his head get smaller as he walked away to serve the next customer.
That was enough to bring me back to earth.
The man next to me seemed to be feeling the same way, clearing his voice for good measure.
Finding some courage, I turned my head and stared at him with an interrogative look.
«Right...» he commented, fiddling with a twisted orange rind. It seemed far too small in between his fingers.
«My buddy there is having the worst bachelor party of the century and he decided that the solution would be to play "truth or dare" at the ripe age of thirty.»
A grunt escaped from him, as if saying that sentence out loud pained him. Or embarrassed him. Or both.
I scoffed and shook my head in disbelief.
Who'd have thought a burly man like this would be up for a childish game of truth or dare?
It was almost funny if he didn't genuinely seemed sorry to have chosen me as his victim.
«Guess what I picked,» he said more to himself than to me.
«You must care for your friend very much if you blindly accepted the dare,» I said raising my hand over my head to signal the barman to get me a refill.
All of a sudden twice wasn't enough. Olives or no olives.
He sauntered in front of me with the largest smile I've seen him offer to his clientele all night long.
His eyes darted to the man next to me and, if possible, his grin widened.
They obviously knew each other, between their previous interaction and this one.
I ignored their exchange of looks — or at least I pretended to and went ahead with my order.
The barman nodded and quickly juggled a bunch of bottles and started pouring everything into a shaker.
I stared, ogling at his dexterity when the stranger interrupted my thoughts.
«I do.»
I frowned at the sight of the olive being dropped in my drink, but quickly smiled when it was served to me. I muttered a "thanks" and the barman nodded in recognition.
«You must also suck at reading the room if I was your pick,» I said as I took a sip of my Martini. «I didn't mean to look approachable tonight.»
Throwing a nasty glance through the glass I hoped he would take the hint, but his response came in the form of a laugh.
Not a mocking one, but a warm, genuine one instead.
His fingers went towards his head as if he wanted to pinch and tilt the visor of a hat.
«I know.»
He knew. He freaking knew and...
«And you're here.»
«You're right,» was his response. Ugh!
The way he was acting all disinterested was getting on my nerves.
Actually, rather than not interested he seemed more nonchalant about being hinted at to basically shoo away.
Despite it, he wasn't being persistent or creepy, to which I was silently grateful for.
«Always am,» I picked at him trying to hide a smirk by taking another sip of my drink.
He seemed pleasantly surprised by my snarky response, because he looked at me with raised brows only to chuckle to himself as he copied my action with his old fashioned.
«You know, I didn't mean to approach tonight, either,» the man confessed, his lips puckering slightly and stretching taut from what I assumed was the sweetness of the pooled sugar at the bottom of the glass.
I bottomed up my drink, too.
I definitely needed some liquid courage to help my nerves relax.
«And yet you're still here.»
In all response, he shrugged and reached out with his hand.
Right as I saw his fingers closing in on mine, I held my breath, wondering what they'd feel like on my own skin.
But the contact never came.
Instead, he grabbed the toothpick and quickly popped the olive into his mouth.
Did he notice my disappointment in seeing it being tossed in the drink?
«I must suck at reading the room, I guess,» he replied with his mouth full.
The bastard used my own words against me.
And whatever his goal was, it worked.
The lopsided smile came back and I instinctively pressed my thighs together to ease some of the need for friction.
Maybe being his pick wasn't so annoying as I thought it would be.
Maybe using him the same way he wanted to use me wasn't going to be that bad.
«Truth or dare, you said?» I asked him, turning my body to him.
His eyes slowly came back up from my legs, caressing my hips in a way that made me quiver.
«Mmm,» he hummed low in confirmation when his gaze was on mine.
I was tired of running away from everything.
Letting go tonight didn't mean all my problems would magically be fixed, but maybe...
Maybe it was the solution I was so desperately looking for.
The past few days have been frantic, so a small distraction couldn't have hurt.
I stretched my arm forward.
«I'm Cara, your dare.»
Those words escaped from my mouth before I could even realize I said them out loud.
Corny, the voice in my head reprimanded me.
Embarrassment creeped on my face, turning my cheeks into a pale red hue.
He didn't seem to mind, though.
If I had to guess, he even liked it.
But if he didn't, he once again didn't show it.
Instead, his hand reached out for mine and held it for a few seconds.
The warmth of his skin against mine made a small fire rekindle in my abdomen.
It quickly spread to the rest of my body.
His low voice reverberated in my chest.
«Colton. Whatever you want me to be,» he played along with my inside joke.
And I know he meant it.
I wasn't sure what gave it away, I just knew.
He didn't seem to have any intention in proving me wrong.
Audacity looked good on him.
Tempting, even.
And that was enough to douse me in the dose of confidence I needed to make the next step.