Page 23 of Was I Ever Here
His eyes drill holes straight to my soul. He unnerves me and he knows it. Relishes it even. The lethal way he carries himself only heightens my reaction to him.
But there’s something else there. Something I can’t quite put my finger on. His imposing influence scratches at the edges of my subconscious, pulling at something forgotten.
He feels…almost familiar.
And yes, I’m painfully aware of how ridiculous that sounds. But I can’t shake the feeling.
“You done?”
My head snaps up and my eyes narrow as I watch Byzantine stroll into the main dining area like he fucking owns the place. Ugh, I guess he does own the place now.
He sprawls into a corner booth, his crooked grin dimpling his cheek as he watches me. A king on his throne.
“Why are you still here?” I pipe back. “I can close up, I’ve done it a million times.”
Translation: Please leave me the fuck alone.
He chuckles, scratching his scruff with his hand. “Well, I wouldn’t want to leave you alone, now would I? You never know what kind of evil is lurking in the shadows.”
I wipe my hands on the rag hanging from my back pocket and cross my arms. “Pretty sure I’m looking straight at him.”
A surprised laugh bursts out of him and he smiles. “Touché,” he says, his voice full of mirth.
Technically, I’m done cleaning the bar, but my feet refuse to move, unwilling to get any closer to Byzantine. The entire dining room separates us and I’m very much okay with that. So I stay in place instead, and glare at him from afar while he takes out his phone and starts typing, either unaware or unbothered by the holes I’m trying to burrow into his skull.
“Have a drink with me,” he demands, his eyes still glued to his screen.
“What?”
Oh, I heard him alright, but the word jumped out of my mouth anyway, surprised by his casual order.
He places his phone screen-down on the table and looks up, his features stoic. Not cold, but penetrating. A shiver trails down my spine as I gulp down my nerves.
“I said, have a drink with me,” he reiterates slowly, each word emphasized with wicked intention, tapping two fingers on the table and making my body jolt. I suddenly want to break his fingers in half—or crawl across the floor to him.
Both are equally startling.
What the hell is happening to me? I quickly push the visuals out of my brain as if worried he can read my thoughts.
I finally make a move and grab a bottle of whiskey and two glasses before exiting the bar.
“Fine, but only because I don’t really have a choice, do I?” I reply, my knees wobbling as I near the corner booth. Byzantine still looks like an arrogant prince, watching with a righteous air that I want to strangle out of him.
I slide into the booth, staying close to the edge and as far as possible from him. I place the bottle and tumblers in the middle of the table, lean back, and stare at him. I can tell he’s amused and my blood begins to heat. He cocks a brow.
“Well?” he says, his chin pointing to the bottle of whiskey. “Aren’t you going to pour us a drink?”
I cross my arms and dish out the same cocky grin. “I’m clocked out.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, waiting for his reaction. He looks at me for half a second then laughs. It’s warm, inviting even.
Still, I wince.
He continues to chuckle while reaching for the bottle and pours us each a generous amount of whiskey. He slides mine across the table. I wait till his fingers are clear off my drink before picking it up. Byzantine tilts his tumbler in the air giving me a small toast. I return it with a thin-lipped smile, bringing the alcohol to my mouth and taking a sip.
I’m going to need this drink if I’m being forced to have a casual, somewhat strong-armed, conversation with Byzantine at three o’clock in the morning. We sit in silence while he studies me from over his drink. My heart beats wildly in my chest, as I try to keep my composure and force a bored look on my face.
But he’s like a bomb sniffing dog, only instead of explosives, he expertly sniffs out the fear I’m trying to conceal. I can tell by the way his lips curve up slightly, taunting and intimidating. And maybe some other emotions I’m currently refusing to admit even to myself.