And that hesitation likely had a lot to do with her deluded fantasies regarding the man hauling her away by the arm. She had to get over this fixation with him and move on. She couldn't spend her whole life with the ridiculous notion that he was going to one day notice her and decide he had to have her.
She greedily drank in the sight of him, like an addict getting their next high—like she'd gone far too long without that fix. He was a man whose presence filled any room he occupied. He wore his black hair cut short, styled with minimal product. Just enough to give it an expensive, sophisticated look.
He had the look of the sinful bad boy all the women went wild for. He had a total "don't give a fuck" attitude, and what Gabe wanted, Gabe always got. His confidence and arrogance were two things that drew her to him—had always drawn her to him. She was helpless to fight her attraction to him. God knew she'd tried for years, but her obsession showed no signs of waning.
