Until I was no longer sad and hurt.
"You talked about him being bad news. I, however, chatted him up after you left and I think you should spend some more time on the dark side of life. Oh, and Mr. Sexy and Brooding over there looks like he could rock your world in a shake-the-dust-off kind of way."
I roll my eyes at Graham's reference. He's more concerned about my girl parts getting appropriate amounts of attention than I am these days.
Smiling despite myself, I shake my head and walk away. Graham doesn't understand the way I'm wired. He's always been so sure of who he is.
He’s never doubted that the people in his life love him for who he is, not despite of it. And that’s saying something considering he came out to his evangelical parents when he was sixteen.
Because I cannot stay away, I make my way to where Josh is still cloaked in shadows. "What can I get for you?"
All business. That's the only way through this interaction. I have to keep some distance between us. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am to risk screwing it up over a guy. Again.
He looks at me silently, letting the quiet wrap around us until I'm sure we're the only two people in the world. Now that I'm closer, his eyes change from dark and hidden in shadows to light, light green. So light they're almost clear. I've never seen a man's eyes change color before. It's fascinating. They stand out even in the dim lighting of the Baywater. And he's got ridiculously dark lashes. He probably doesn't even realize what that does to the ladies.
I take that back. He probably does. Guys like him always end up with girls like Parker throwing themselves at him. They’re both lucky enough to have those options. And yeah, I’m a little jealous over the carefree way I imagine him having sex. With Parker.
His penis probably never lacks for company.
I almost smile at the decidedly not business train of thought. But then I realize that he is watching me, silent and unmoving.
"Are you going to speak?" I finally ask. "Or are we going to stare at each other until one of us blinks?"
His lips twitch, and I really don't need to focus on his bottom lip again.
"You never stand at the bar and bullshit with the other waiters. You're always busy." His voice is warm and smooth, not rough and slurring like that night at the bar. Nor is he fierce and solid like he was in class. No, he is something different now.
"Aren't you the observant one?" I brace my hip against the solid wood door. The cut above his eye is almost healed. "No bar fights tonight?"
“Almost.” He tips his chin. "Tried getting a drink, but the company at my usual watering hole isn’t very appealing this evening."
"Sounds like you were avoiding unpleasant company."
His mouth curves into a smile then and it's kind of overwhelming how it transforms him. The hard edges melt away and his eyes crinkle at the edges.
"Pretty perceptive, aren’t you," he says.
I frown but I'm smiling when I shake my head. "It goes with the territory."
He lifts one broad shoulder and I can't help but notice the way his neck moves. I've always been attracted to strong men. Which is part of the problem, because guys who spend too much time in the gym are generally overcompensating for either an underdeveloped sense of self or a small penis. Sometimes both. It’s hard to decouple which way the causal arrow goes.
But I should not be letting the butterflies in my stomach entertain ideas about Josh Douglas. He's trouble. He might be dark and compelling and incredibly sexy, but he's trouble nonetheless.
And wow, can I think about something that is not tangentially related to my lack of a sex life? Graham would be so proud.
Josh swallows but says nothing. Again his neck moves, and all my attention zeroes in on the way his skin slides over the muscles.
Down, girl.
He shifts and folds his arms over his chest.
I reach out.
It’s a stupid thing. But my curiosity has gotten the best of me. I urge his arm over so I can see the letters those thick black lines form. Both of his forearms are extended now, allowing me to read the stark black letters.
“For I am my brother’s keeper,” I whisper, reading the words spelled out across the inside of his arms. He shivers beneath my touch. “You didn’t strike me as particularly religious.”
“I’m not.”
“This is a line from the Bible. The book of Genesis, I think.”
His eyes have darkened but he hasn’t pulled away, leaving his arm resting in my palm.
“The verse references when God asks Cain about his brother Abel.” He grinds his teeth, the muscles in his jaw pulsing, his shoulders tense. “I modified it a little bit.”
I trace my nail over the word “keeper.” “Are you?” I whisper. I am terrified by the powerful want drawing me closer to him.