Rachel McAdams Collection

HerShe

Y/N'S POV

She stared at me from across the smoky dimness of the hotel bar, and I found myself staring right back at her.

I had done a quick scan of the room when I had first arrived — surely because I was hoping for the sight of her. But as my newfound friends began approaching me, I had just as quickly gotten lost in one conversation after the other. Only a few mentions of her had let me know that she was, in fact, also there.

I had been handed a drink and invited to dance to the blaring music bouncing off the walls. Soon enough, thoughts of her had fled my mind. Less than an hour later, I was back at the bar, sweating lightly and a bit out of breath.

I signaled to the wiry bartender that I needed a refill and then I turned to watch the sea of bodies on the dance floor as I waited.

It was then that I felt it — that discomfort one gets when they know they're being stared at. I turned my head to find the source, only to have my eyes lock with hers.

Rachel stood at the other end of the bar, casually leaning against the wood. The place was dark, but a soft light from the bar hit her just enough so that her identity was unmistakable.

The beautiful woman wore a plain, light-colored shirt over jeans and a pair of boots, and yet nothing about the way that the clothes hugged her curves could be deemed simple. Her perfect, brunette, uneven curls perfectly framed her face. The light softened and, at the same time, highlighted her cheekbones. 

Her expression, however, was entirely inscrutable.

I stood there unable to look away, completely transfixed by her — this woman who I didn't really know, had barely interacted with in the two months we had been in the same program, and had not seen for thirty days since said program had ended. But goddamn if she hadn't been incessant in my head for the past couple of weeks.

It hit me then just how illogically and yet, completely smitten I was with her.

'Out of my league,' my brain reminded me. 

Still, I didn't look away. 'She probably wasn't even looking at me anyway,' I thought as the bartender placed a drink in my hand.

Rachel straightened up, cocked her head almost imperceptibly to the side, and slightly raised the glass of brandy, I now noticed, she was cradled in her right hand.

Okay, so maybe she was looking at me. What was I supposed to do with that information?

I was saved by a couple of friends coming over, still high from their stint on the dance floor and excitedly talking over the other. I smiled and laughed along on all the appropriate moments, but their words barely registered. I was heady, my mind clouded with thoughts of her and the unreadable way she had looked at me.

I glanced back to where she had been. Rachel was about a foot further away from the bar, now in conversation with someone else as well. They were positioned so that she was slightly angled from me, giving me her profile — and a chance for me to peruse her without her knowing.

I took my time, smiling at the way her soft curls bounced at the slightest movement of her head. I admired the fine arches of her brows, the chiseled lines of her cheekbones, and the smooth ridge of her nose. Her jaw line was firm, but her chin was feminine. Her facial features were a contrast of hard and soft all over. 

God, she was beautiful.

I made a pretense of nodding to what one of my friends was saying as my eyes traveled to her neck and further down, appreciating her full form.