Gia
We got to the bar, and I stood there, still shaky from spilling his drink, watching as he leaned toward the bartender. The bartender was mid-pour for someone else, but he dropped everything, literally set the bottle down, and turned to him. Like this man's voice was a magnet.
"I'll have another glass of whiskey. Neat," he said, his baritone carrying authority. There was something commanding about not just the way he spoke, but also the way he carried himself like he owned the place.
Like he owned every inch of the room. I couldn't look away, mesmerized by the roll of his shoulders under that black shirt.
His voice snapped me out of it, pulling me back to reality. "What would you like to have?" he asked, those sea-blue eyes locking onto mine. I blinked, my brain scrambling. What did I want? I'd had that overpriced martini earlier, do I still want to have that? "Uh…" I started, then stopped, feeling like an idiot. He tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "What about champagne? Would you want that?"
I nodded, mute, because of the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the room worth seeing. Stole my voice right out of my throat. He turned back to the bartender, and said, "A bottle of champagne and a glass of whiskey. Put it on my tab."
I swallowed hard. If a single glass of martini here cost fifty bucks, I could only imagine how much an entire bottle of champagne would be.
Hundreds? More? My bank account whimpered just thinking about it, but he didn't seem to care.
He turned to me again. "How about we head to the booth?"
I followed his gaze to the VIP section, where he was pointing. My voice still felt trapped in my throat, so I simply nodded and said, "Okay."
He led the way, his hand slipping into mine as we walked. The contact sent a jolt through me, and I tried, really tried to ignore what it did to my insides. But it was impossible. I had to remind myself to breathe. Just breathe, Gia. What was wrong with me? I didn't even know this man.
I repeated to myself that this was just one drink. That was all. One drink, and then I'd be on my way.
We reached a secluded VIP booth, slightly removed from the rest of the bar, yet positioned so we could still see everything happening. A waiter arrived moments later with our drinks, setting them down before disappearing.
The man grabbed the bottle of champagne, his strong hands working the cork. I found myself staring, watching the way his forearm flexed with the motion. When the cork popped, I almost jumped, startled back to reality.
He poured my glass and handed it to me, Our fingers brushed, just a graze, and a sudden sensation zipped through me at the contact, making my breath hitch.
"Thanks," I mumbled, taking a sip. The champagne was crisp, bubbly, way fancier than anything I'd ever tasted. When I glanced up, I noticed he was watching me, his whiskey untouched on the table between us, he was sitting opposite me, sprawled back like he owned the place.
Clearing my throat, I set my glass on the table between us. "I'm sorry I spilled your drink, I'm supposed to be buying you…"
"Stop apologizing. It's fine," he said with a small smile.
I nodded and took another sip of my drink. "You never told me your name."
He smirked, those piercing eyes holding mine. "You didn't ask."
I blinked. Fair point. "So… what's your name?"
"Jeremy."
"Nice to meet you, Jeremy," the second it left my mouth, I cringed. Why did I say that? He chuckled, a rich, warm sound that rolled over me, and I had no idea what was so funny—or why I cared.
He leaned back in his seat, one arm draped over the booth's edge, and said, "So, Gia, why were you running out of the bar like you were being chased?"
I frowned, sitting up straighter. "I wasn't running. I was trying to book a ride on my phone, that's why I didn't see you coming."
"That's not how things looked from my point of view." His tone was light but probing like he was testing me.
Curious despite myself, I raised an eyebrow. "Your point of view?"
He tilted his head his gaze not wavering. "You turned down every guy who came up to talk to you, looked like you were about to cry, and then bolted like your seat suddenly caught fire."
My mouth fell open. "Wait… were you watching me?"
He neither confirmed nor denied it, just took a slow sip of his drink. Then he leaned forward, and asked, "So what's the problem? What had you coming to a bar alone and almost bursting into tears?"
I crossed my arms. "I didn't know women weren't allowed to come to a bar alone."
He shook his head, unfazed. "Never said that. It's not strange for a woman to come to a bar alone. But looking like she's about to cry while having her drink. That's different."
"I wasn't about to cry!" I snapped, louder than I meant to. My cheeks burned, and I gripped my glass tighter.
"Okay," he said, raising his hands like he was surrendering, though his eyes said he didn't buy it. "But I can tell there's something wrong. Would you like to talk about it?"
I stared at him, incredulous. "What are you, a mind reader?"
"No," he said, that smirk creeping back, "but clairvoyance is something I've got."
I rolled my eyes and took another sip of my drink, the bubbles fizzing against my tongue. He leaned back again, sipping his whisky now, and asked again, "So, do you want to talk about it?"
I hesitated. Did I really want to sit here and spill my guts about my breakup to a complete stranger? How pathetic would that sound?
He seemed to notice my reluctance and added, "I believe it's said a problem shared is half solved."
I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. "And you're offering to be my therapist?"
"More like a drinking companion with good ears," he said, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable.