Lust over heels

Alastair

I'd been watching him all night.

The man in the expensive suit who'd been staring at me from the VIP section with an intensity that made my skin burn. He was beautiful in a dangerous way—sharp jawline, dark eyes that seemed to see right through me.

When he'd finally approached the bar, I'd felt my heart hammer against my ribs. Up close, he was even more devastating. There was something broken in his eyes, something that called to the part of me that always wanted to fix things, to heal wounds I couldn't see.

Kyren. That was his name. It suited him.

I'd served hundreds of customers tonight, but I couldn't stop thinking about the way his fingers had brushed mine when I'd handed him his drink. Such a simple touch, but it had sent electricity shooting up my arm and straight to my chest. The way he'd looked at me afterward, like I was something precious and dangerous all at once, had made my breath catch.

I'd been stealing glances at him for the past hour, watching him drink himself into oblivion while his bodyguard, because that's what the dark-haired man had to be, watched with growing concern. There was something desperate in the way Kyren drank, like he was trying to drown something that refused to die.

When he'd stumbled toward the restroom, swaying on his feet, I'd felt a stab of worry. He was clearly wasted, and the way he'd pushed away his companion's help suggested he was the kind of drunk who made bad decisions.

I should have minded my own business. Should have focused on the dozen other customers waiting for drinks. But something about the lost look in his eyes as he'd disappeared into the crowd made me abandon my post.

"Cover for me," I called to Sarah, the other bartender, and followed him.

I found Kyren hunched over one of the sinks, gripping the porcelain like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

"Hey," I said softly, approaching him like I would a wounded animal. "You okay?"

He looked up at me in the mirror, his eyes were unfocused but still managing to find mine. "Alastair?" He said my name like he was surprised to find it in his mouth.

"Yeah, it's me." I moved closer, noting the way his hands shook as he gripped the sink. "You don't look so good."

He laughed, but it came out bitter and broken. "That's because I'm not good. I'm not..." He swayed, and I caught his arm to steady him.

Before I could ask what he meant, his face went pale. He lunged toward the nearest stall, and I heard the violent sound of him losing everything he'd drunk tonight. I followed without thinking, patting his back gently as his body convulsed.

"It's okay," I murmured, rubbing circles on his back the way my mother used to do when I was sick. "Just get it out."

He retched until there was nothing left, then slumped against the stall wall, breathing hard. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his expensive shirt was wrinkled and damp. He looked young suddenly, vulnerable in a way that made my chest ache.

"Come on," I said, helping him to his feet. "Let's get you cleaned up."

I led him back to the sinks, wetting paper towels with cool water. He stood still as I wiped his face, his eyes closed like he was savoring the gentle touch. When I pressed a damp towel to the back of his neck, he actually sighed.

"Better?" I asked, and he nodded.

I filled a cup with water from the tap and held it out to him. "Drink this. Slowly."

He obeyed, and I watched his throat work as he swallowed. There was something intimate about caring for him like this, something that made my pulse quicken despite the unglamorous circumstances.

"You're beautiful," he said suddenly,

I felt heat rise in my cheeks. "You're drunk."

"Drunk, not blind." He set the cup aside and stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne beneath the alcohol. "You're really pretty for a boy."

My face burned hotter. I'd heard variations of that line before, usually from men who thought they were being complimentary while simultaneously othering me. But from Kyren, it didn't feel like an insult. It felt like worship.

"You're not so bad yourself," I said, trying for light but failing. The truth was, he was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen, even drunk and disheveled in a club bathroom.

"I've been staring at you all night," he confessed, leaning against the sink. "Couldn't stop. My bodyguard thinks I'm losing my mind."

"I've been staring too," I admitted, then immediately regretted it. I wasn't supposed to admit things like that.

But Kyren smiled, and it transformed his entire face. The cold, dangerous mask slipped away, revealing something warm and genuine underneath. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I couldn't look away from his mouth. "You have a really nice smile."

"I want to kiss you," he said, and the words hung in the air between us like a confession.

My heart hammered against my ribs. "You're drunk."

"Not that drunk." He stepped closer, and I could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Just one kiss. It's harmless."

It wasn't harmless, and we both knew it. But I wanted it too, had been wanting it since the moment I'd seen him. Despite every rational thought screaming at me to walk away, I found myself nodding.

"Just one," I whispered.

He cupped my face in his hands, and I was struck by how gentle he was. His thumbs traced my cheekbones as he leaned in, and when his lips finally touched mine, I felt something shift inside my chest.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like he was afraid I might disappear. But when I kissed him back, he deepened it, his hands sliding into my hair. He tasted like whiskey. I melted into him, my hands fisting in his shirt as I tried to pull him closer.

Then, suddenly, he went limp in my arms.

"Kyren?" I caught him as he swayed, his eyes rolling back. "Kyren!"

But he was out cold, his full weight sagging against me. I managed to keep him upright, my heart racing as I realized what I'd gotten myself into. His bodyguard was probably looking for him, and here I was, holding his unconscious boss in a bathroom after kissing him.

I should have called for help. Should have left him there and gone back to work. Instead, I found myself making a decision that would change everything.

I half-carried, half-dragged him out of the restroom through a side exit, avoiding the main bar where his bodyguard was probably searching. My manager would kill me for leaving early, but I called in sick anyway, claiming food poisoning. Sarah covered for me, probably thinking I was hooking up with some random customer.

If only she knew.

My apartment was a fifteen-minute walk from the club, and Kyren was heavier than he looked. By the time I got him up the three flights of stairs to my door, I was breathing hard and second-guessing every decision that had led me here.

My place was small, cramped, furnished with secondhand finds and student-budget necessities. The couch was barely big enough for me, let alone for two, but I managed to get him settled. He stirred as I arranged him on the cushions, his eyes fluttering open.

"Where..." he began, his voice thick with confusion.

"My apartment," I said, suddenly self-conscious about the peeling wallpaper and the stack of textbooks on my coffee table. "You passed out. I thought you might be more comfortable here than in a club bathroom."

He sat up slowly, looking around with clearer eyes. The fresh air and walk seemed to have sobered him up some, though he still moved carefully, like he wasn't entirely sure of his balance.

"You brought me to your house," he said, and there was something in his voice.

"I couldn't just leave you there." I moved to the kitchen, needing something to do with my hands. "Are you feeling better? I can make coffee, or—"

"Alastair." The way he said my name stopped me mid-sentence. When I turned, he was standing, steady now, his eyes dark and focused. "Come here."

I should have said no. Should have kept my distance, made coffee, called him a cab. Instead, I found myself walking back to him, drawn by the same magnetic pull that had been tugging at me all night.

He reached for me as soon as I was close enough, his hands sliding around my waist. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For taking care of me."

"It was nothing." But my voice came out breathless, because his hands were warm through my shirt, and he was looking at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

"It wasn't nothing to me." His thumbs traced small circles on my hipbones, and I felt my knees go weak. "I haven't had anyone take care of me in a long time."

There was something raw in his voice, something that made me want to ask questions I had no right to ask. Instead, I reached up to touch his face, my fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw.

"I'm sober enough to know what I want." His hands tightened on my waist. "And I want you."

The air between us crackled with tension. I could feel my resolve crumbling, could feel myself falling toward something that would probably destroy me. But when he leaned down to kiss me again, I didn't pull away.

This kiss was different from the one in the bathroom. Hungrier, more desperate. His hands roamed my body with purpose, and I arched into his touch, completely lost.

"Alastair," he murmured against my lips, and the sound of my name in his mouth undid me completely.