“This seems only suitable as a punishment.” He put the glass down and turned to face her. “We should go, Gaia.”
Chloe knew she’d overdone it, too much bourbon too fast, because she didn’t remember giving him her name to mangle like that. “It’s Chloe,” she corrected him. “I don’t remember your name at all.”
“Because I haven’t told you; my apologies,” he said with a smile that was far too bright for this bar or her mood. “I’m Jagar Anereroth.” When she frowned at him, he said, “But for you, please call me Sparrow. It’s easier to remember.”
She couldn’t suppress her laugh again. “That’s cute. Hippy dippy parents?”
He frowned in confusion. “I don’t know what—”
“Look, I’m not leaving here with you, not now, not after any number of drinks. But you’re cute, really. Another night, maybe you’d have been in luck. Not today.” She patted his shoulder. “Nice to meet you, though. Nighty night.”
Chloe turned back to her drink.
Another day, she’d have definitely considered spending some time with him. Oh, who was she kidding? Another life, maybe. She hadn’t really been able to trust anybody since Norman, and the few times she’d attempted to date had been more nerve-wracking than fun. She’d divorced him years ago, yet, each time she with another man she was seized with unexplainable fear that she was cheating on Norman.
He brainwashed you, that’s why.
He’d always lived deep in the recesses of your mind, lurking. Waiting his chance to corrupt you once more…
“Would you believe me if I said you’re the reason I came?” The man leaned in closer, heat suddenly radiating from him. His gaze hypnotic. His presence stirred a long-buried feeling inside her. “I’ve been told I’d encounter some difficulty to convince you. Ga—Chloe, I’ve been looking for you.”
She studied his face. On second thought, striking seemed like understatement. His beauty was otherworldly. Yeah, he was that good-looking. It made him out of place in this dive bar. Beautiful people didn’t belong here. “In that case, you’ve made an incredible mistake.” She said it, but as she gazed into his deep green eyes, she wished it wasn’t so. He seemed so…safe. His eyes promised safe haven.
Nah. Are you fucking kidding me?
Trick of the alcohol.
That was the reason so many people ended up in bad situations. Alcohol made everything seem okay, didn’t it? It smoothed over the rough edges of people and their personalities and said, enjoy yourself, go for it, nothing bad’s going to happen! If it feels good, do it. Trust him.
Trust me.
She looked around for the source of that whisper. It hadn’t been the man next to her. Nobody else was nearby. Ah, alcohol. Such a deceiver.
She looked at her glass and lifted it to drink the last gulp of her bourbon. He stopped her.
“I think you had enough.”
“Sugar, you’re not the boss of me.”
“No, I’m not. I’m your protector.”
“Say again?”
“Maybe it’s best if we have this important conversation elsewhere when you’re not inebriated. We should have some coffee.”
A little chuckle erupted from her throat. “Nice try.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your pick-up line. Do women always fall for that?”
He tilted his head a little. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“That protector thing. You hit on lonely, tipsy women in bars and seduce them like you’re their knight in shining armor. I bet you sweep a lot women off their feet.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong.” He looked amused.
“Is that so?”