The Inevitable

“Inevitable, huh?” I choke out, grabbing the washcloth to focus my attention on something else other than him.

“As inevitable as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west.”

“How very poetic of you. Is that what you teach? Poetry?”

I’ve seen his university badge, so I know he works there.

He chuckles.

“What?” I glance up from wiping down the already clean counter.

“You just proved my point. You’re caving.”

“How so?”

“You’re asking me questions. Trying to get to know me.”

“More like it’s slow and I’m making conversation with the only person sitting at the bar,” I retort.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself.” He takes a sip of his drink. “But to answer your question… No, I don’t teach poetry. I teach psychology. I’ve almost completed my master’s in clinical psychology.”

“You want to be a psychologist?” After my parents died, the state required my sister, Blakely, and me to see one. I hated her because she was condescending and lacked empathy. It’s one of the reasons my sister is in school to become a guidance counselor. She wants to help guide kids in a positive way.

“I’m actually hoping to get a full-time teaching job at the university. But I’d love to volunteer at various mental health facilities. Therapy saved my life, and I want to help others the way it helped me.”

Thankfully, a customer sits down at the other end of the bar. I excuse myself to greet her, and from there, the evening picks up. A steady flow of customers keeps me busy—between running the bar with one other person and managing the restaurant—and when I finally get a chance to check on Kolton, he’s not there.

“Can you grab a bottle of Johnny Walker black label from the back?” Wilma asks. “We’re out of it up here.”

“Sure.”

I’m halfway down the hall, my eyes trained on my phone, reading a text from my sister, when I run into a… wall? “Oomph.” I stumble backward, my feet losing their balance, and am mentally preparing myself for the fall when powerful hands grip my waist and keep me upright.

My vision adjusts to the darkness, and I find the wall isn’t a wall at all, but Kolton. He must’ve been coming out of the men’s restroom.

“Shit, are you okay?” he asks, his voice filled with concern. “I was looking at my phone and didn’t see you.” His eyes lock with mine, and the sudden heat of his stare fills me with liquid lust.

“I was too.” My words come out breathy, our proximity messing with my head. Usually, I have the bar to serve as a barrier between us. But now… nothing’s between us. It’s just Kolton and me in a dark hallway.

His fingers dig into my sides, his front flush with my own. My chest brushes up against his, and I can feel my nipples, sensitive with desire, pushed up against his muscular torso. Our faces are close. Too close. He’s a head taller than me, but in my heeled boots, I’m close enough that I can reach up slightly and lay a soft kiss to his chiseled jawline, working my way to the corner of his mouth before giving his lips my attention…

As if he can sense what I’m thinking, he groans softly under his breath. “I want to kiss you so fucking badly.”

“Then do it,” I whisper. “Kiss me.”

“Go out with me.”

And just like that, the moment is broken. I back away, sucking in a breath of air that isn’t filled with Kolton’s scent. “I can’t.”

Without waiting for his response, I turn my back on him and disappear down the hall into the storage room. In the darkness, I take a moment to get my breathing—and libido—under control, and then I grab the bottle I need and head back out.

When I return to the bar, all that’s left of Kolton is his signed receipt. Wilma must’ve given him his bill.

“He couldn’t keep his eyes off you,” Wilma says, glancing over my shoulder. “When I brought him his bill, he looked like a sad puppy that I wasn’t you.”

“It’s not happening…” Then maybe you shouldn’t have told him to kiss you… I’m going to chalk that up to temporary insanity.

I have no intention of giving him a chance to break my heart. Thanks to my sister and my beautiful nephew, I'm on the right path, and I refuse to ever go back down the path of destruction. I prefer to date men who won’t destroy me. The ones I’m safe from giving my heart to.

“Have you seen the man?” Wilma waggles her brows. “He’s fine as hell.”

There’s no denying he’s a good-looking man. With his floppy brown hair he keeps swept under his gray beanie, his mesmerizing brown eyes look at me as if he can see straight into my soul, and when he gets comfortable and rolls the sleeves of his dress shirt up… Holy shit! Between his muscular forearms and the ink donning them, my insides become a freaking inferno. Nothing is hotter than a man who can wear a suit like it was made for him while hiding the bad boy underneath. Too bad I won’t ever get the chance to experience either. My mom had a man like that once—my dad—and it killed her… literally. No way am I following in those footsteps.