The Beta's Forbidden Mate

Chapter Three

Terry's Place was only four blocks from our apartment, and it took me less than ten minutes to walk there. My heart pounding in rhythm with my footsteps, desperately hoping that he would somehow be there, waiting for me.

On a Monday night, the place wasn't nearly as busy as it had been on Friday. There were only ten or so people in the bar, most of them clustered around the dartboard. A group of guys in pale fraternity polos and khaki pants looked my way when I came in. They were all good-looking in an "I go to the gym too much" kind of way, but none of them were my sexy stranger.

Another glance around the small space confirmed it. He wasn't there. I almost sagged with disappointment as I headed towards the bar.

"Hey, Liv!" Terry said in surprise when I sank onto one of the scuffed leather stools. He was a grizzled ex-biker with a bushy brown beard who showed off his many tattoos by wearing cut-off denim vests embroidered with patches. "Don't often see you in here without the girls."

"Yeah, I was just...in the mood for a drink. Can I get a beer?" I asked.

Something in my face must have told him that I wasn't up for conversation, because Terry nodded kindly, got me my beer, and then busied himself with wiping down a row of glasses at the other end of the bar, casting curious glances my way now and then.

I took my drink and headed to a booth where I'd have a good view of the back entrance, where I'd seen my dark-eyed stranger come in last Friday.

This is so pathetic, Olivia, I thought to myself. Not to mention desperate.

I sipped my beer, staring at the door to the bar as if by sheer mental will I could make him walk through it.

But of course, the door remained closed.

It's only six-thirty. Give it some time, I tried to reassure myself.

So I did. I waited an hour. And then another. At some point, I ordered another beer, but just stared into the clear amber liquid without drinking it.

Another hour. One of the frat guys asked if I wanted company, probably figuring that's why I was there sitting all by myself, but I shook my head, not looking at him, and he wandered off.

Finally, at almost ten o'clock, Terry came over and sat down in the booth beside me, his already-wrinkled face creased further in concern.

"Everything okay?" he asked gently. "You need someone to talk to?"

I smiled at him. Despite his surly appearance, Terry was a big softie on the inside. He couldn't bear to see anyone in pain.

"I'm okay, Terry," I told him, smothering another sigh. My limbs felt heavy, like they were filled with sand. "I was just...waiting for someone who didn't show."

"Well then he's a fool to stand you up" Terry said. "And you can do a thousand times better."

I didn't have the heart to tell him that man I'd been waiting for didn't even know me, or that I'd be here. That I had been chasing a figment of my imagination.

"Thanks, Terry," I said instead.

He chewed on his bushy beard. "Well, I'm real sorry, but I gotta start cleaning up. We're closing in half an hour. Do you need anything else?"

I shook my head, then hesitated. "Actually, do you mind if I sit at the piano for awhile?"

A smile broke across his face. "Of course! It never gets played enough, help yourself. I'll be at the bar, ringing out the register if you need anything."

"Thanks," I said again, more sincerely this time.

Terry went back to the bar, his brow still furrowed with concern. I headed to the stage that Sugarvenom had played on the other night, where an old upright piano sat to one side so it wouldn't get in the way of performing groups.

It was covered in a light layer of dust that I wiped off with the sleeve of my jacket. Terry was right, it hadn't been used in awhile.

I sat down on the creaky bench and placed my fingers carefully on the keys. For no reason, my heart was pounding out of control as I began to play.

The piano may not have been used often, but Terry kept it perfectly in tune. I began the first new notes of an old Leonard Cohen song, it's melancholy notes rising and falling as my hands moved.

I'd played this piece so many times in high school that my fingers had it memorized. My piano teacher had abhorred anything that wasn't strictly classical, but the lonely hopefulness of the had always spoken to me.

I closed my eyes, losing myself in the music. The frantic pounding in my heart now felt almost joyous—excited, like I'd been set free in some way.

The image of the sexy stranger floated back into my mind, but this time I welcomed it, let it flow over me as my hands flew over the keys.

There was a reason I'd been drawn to him. It wasn't just that I'd been obsessing over a cute guy.

There was something more to it. Something deeper. Something I could almost reach out and touch.

And I had to find out what it was.

The last few notes rang out as I finished the song and my hands stilled on the piano. I kept my eyes closed, trying to gather my thoughts.

I was breathing hard, like I'd run a mile. There was a soaring feeling in my veins, more than the usual catharsis I felt while playing music.

Then I felt it.

That same, strange sensation I'd felt last Friday night—the feeling of being yanked towards something. Like I was caught on an invisible fishing line, and someone was reeling me in.

My pulse began to race. Slowly, I opened my eyes to look toward the back of the bar.

There he was. Standing only a few feet away from me, near the entrance.

My dark-eyed stranger.