8

He wasn’t like the other men there.

He wasn’t trying too hard, wasn’t loud or desperate for attention.

He just stood there, watching.

Observing.

And when our eyes met, I felt a jolt run through me, like a spark igniting something deep inside.

He was gorgeous, that much was undeniable.

Dark hair, slightly tousled, and those eyes—God, those eyes.

Deep, intense, like they could see straight through me.

I had felt something stir in my chest, something dangerous and thrilling all at once.

I played it cool, or at least I tried to.

I spent the rest of the night trying not to look at him, trying to focus on my friends, on the drinks, on anything but him.

But it was impossible.

I could feel his gaze on me, like a physical touch, and it made my heart race in a way I hadn’t felt before.

There was something intoxicating about it, about him.

Eventually, I gave in.

I looked back, and when I did, he was already making his way toward me.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

The kind of voice tha