His Loving Eyes [18+]

1

I slide onto the bar stool and order a tequila shot. The pounding bass of the music reverberates through my skull. Glancing over my shoulder, I twist slightly, my eyes scanning the crowd for my friend. Her wild, bright green hair catches my eye in the center of the dance floor, her body moving rhythmically with another girl's. The bartender slams the shot down in front of me, pulling my attention back. I mutter a thanks and gulp it down.

"Bad night, huh?" the bartender asks casually.

"Might as well be the worst night of my life," I respond, forcing a smile.

He returns the smile. "Well, you need to get laid."

I choke on the lingering taste of tequila, laughter escaping me. "Oh come on, Mike, you know me better than that. I'm not really into one-night stands, especially not with English men."

Mike and I have been friends since I first stumbled into this bar three years ago, shortly after moving to England. It was supposed to be a fresh start, a chance to pursue my dream—or more accurately, the dream my parents had for me. The transition hasn't been easy on my mental health, driving me to drink—often too much. Like that first night here, when I ended up dancing on a table and, embarrassingly, giving a lap dance to a stranger. Mike had been the one to drive me home safely that night. Since then, he's been like a brother to me.

"Look at Gianina over there, having the time of her life," he points out, nodding toward my green-haired friend who is thoroughly enjoying the moment.

"Well, you and I both know what tomorrow morning is going to be like."

He chuckles, amused, then moves off to attend to another customer. I lean back, crossing my legs, my thoughts drifting to the frustrating conversation I had with my dad earlier.

"Scotch," a rough voice orders from my right. I turn and see a man seated a few stools away. His profile strikes a familiar chord in my gut.

'He looks incredibly familiar. Where have I seen him before?' I wonder.

He turns to face me, our eyes meeting briefly before I quickly divert my gaze back to my drink. Still, curiosity wins, and I sneak another glance. He's still looking at me, a frown creasing his brow.

"You're Evelina, Mark's daughter, aren't you?" he asks.

I tense, gripping the edge of my dress. I take a sip of water before nodding slightly.

"And you are?"

"You don't recognize me?" he chuckles, stepping closer.

"You look familiar, but no, I don't know who you are."

He takes the seat next to me, his gaze intense. "I'm Jack Enderson. I was your neighbor in LA."

Recognition floods me. Jack—so much has changed. He's taller, broader, his suit jacket straining against his muscular frame. His eyes, once a light honey, now a deep, dark chocolate, and his lips as sinful as ever.