Lacy

 

The burn in my throat from my mixed drink is a welcome sensation as it takes my mind off the stranger. Unfortunately, once it’s gone, the vision of a shadowed face comes rushing back and the thud of my glass hitting the table startles us both.

“Lacy? What happened to you? Why are you so pale?” My sister’s perfectly plucked brow arches and her questioning tone is full of concern.

“The guy…the one from today—he’s here, and he bought our drinks.” Once I’ve reclaimed the seat across from her, I meet her gaze and wait for my words to sink in.

Tracy’s jaw drops, and her gaping mouth matches her wide eyes as she moves her head from right to left, scanning the restaurant for the mystery man. “What! Where?”

“Over at the bar. He’s sitting at a corner table by himself,” I mutter.

Glass clinks on the table as she bumps it when she jumps to her feet. “Well, let’s go. I want to find out what his deal is—why he seems to be stalking you.” Just as she passes, I catch her wrist and pull her back, but she continues tugging in the direction of the bar. “Come on. Don’t you at least want to know his name?”

I almost fall out of my seat when she gives her arm a quick jerk, freeing it from my grasp.  My brows crinkle in frustration. “No! We’re not going to talk to him.  And we’re not going to confront him. He could be dangerous, Tracy.”

She drops in the seat next to me and crosses her arms. “Pfft, dangerous. Well, maybe you should call the police.”

I consider what she says. Maybe I should call the police, but then shake the thought from my head as I think of how stupid it would sound. “I want to report a guy staring at me and buying me drinks.” They would either laugh or tell me there’s nothing they can do. “Really…he’s not doing anything different than any other guy would be when we go to the club. Guys stare and buy us drinks all the time.” My gaze meets hers and I shrug off the suggestion.

“Yeah…I guess…we just never noticed they could be stalkers because we were always so drunk,” she adds, and we both laugh.

For the next hour, the flow of drinks is steady, and the conversation is much lighter, both of which I appreciate.

“S-So…what does he look like?” There’s a slight slur in her words. 

My face scrunches in confusion as I ask, “Who?”

“Duh…the mystery guy.”

“Oh…” My cackling laugh echoes through the near empty room. The few people scattered throughout the restaurant look our way and I duck my head.  Once their gazes retreat, I lower my voice. “Well, I haven’t actually seen his face. It seems like he’s always in a place where it’s hidden, but the parts I could see are…well, just wow. His biceps are the size of fucking coffee cans, and I bet the material of his shirt screams every time his muscles flex.” The back of my hand moves across the corner of my mouth as I wipe away a droplet of drool. “And that’s just above the table. I can’t even begin to imagine what’s under the table.”

She fans herself dramatically, and her response is as Southern as a native Georgian. “Well, darlin’, he sounds hot!”

We finish up the last of our drinks, and the sour waiter boxes up our food, then places the receipt on the table. My sister signs on the dotted line, tucks her copy in her purse, then we weave through the restaurant.

Holding myself like a five-year-old, I tug on Tracy’s dress and point in the direction of the restroom. “You go watch for the cab. I’ll be right out.” I sway while walking away, and she giggles.

“Are you sure you don’t need help? Maybe we can find that mystery man to take you…” She pauses, letting her words sink in, then belts out a laugh. “Take you…get it?”

When laughter wracks my body, I bend over and hold my midsection. Any attempt at being serious is now a lost cause. “Don’t make me laugh!!” I say, giving her a playful shove as I waddle past then flick a quick glance at the table where he sat earlier. My eyes meet an empty seat, and I voice my disappointment a little louder than expected. “Why should I care? I don’t even know the guy.” 

I step out of the stall, check myself in the mirror, then splash water on my face and let the shock of the cold water sober me a little. “I’ll definitely be feeling this in the morning.”

When I push my way through the door, I’ve only taken but a few steps when my gaze meets a very large, muscular man. His long strides have him down the hall in seconds, and my breath hitches at his commanding presence when he stops only inches from me.

Not taking the chance of meeting his eyes, my gaze is level with his defined pecs, and I attempt to widen the gap between us by taking a few steps back. My effort is for not when he matches my steps and my back firmly hits the wall. He’s close enough that the heat radiating from his body warms my skin, yet we’re still inches from touching.

He places a hand on the wall next to me, and my pulse quickens as he leans in. The unusual scent of leather and the beach saturates my senses. When I think of his lips on mine my body to stiffens, and I begin to lose all sanity as he closes in. It’s not until I feel the warm breath on my ear that I realize he’s not going to kiss me.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” His intense stare pebbles my skin as he waits for my response.

There’s enough alcohol coursing through my veins that my confidence teeters on the edge of stupidity. I straighten my back, lift my chin, and challenge the large man standing before me. “No, should I?”

Without saying a word, his hand reaches for mine. When our skin connects, I feel it—the heat, the energy, the spark. I haven’t felt this since… A gasp escapes my lips and I pull my hand away, searching his eyes for some hint of confirmation. The light from the bar catches a glint of gold flecks in his stare and the mesmerizing hazel returns from so long ago. “Clayton?”

His lips curve into a grin as his eyes roam my body. “Lacy, you’ve grown into quite the lovely woman.”

Heat warms my cheeks, and I look away, unsure what else to say other than, “Thank you.” 

The energy flows through his fingers as he lightly grasps my chin, turning my face toward his. Our eyes meet. “As lovely as that pink color is on your cheeks, you should never feel embarrassed or look away when someone compliments you. You are a beautiful woman, and you should be proud of that.”

Nodding, I shift on my feet, my nerves strung like a too tight string on a guitar.

He releases my chin, then adds, “Check the receipt the waiter gave you. I’m only in town for a couple days. If you’re interested in grabbing a drink, a cup of coffee, or…” his eyes roam over me once again, “anything else, give me a call.” And just like that, he’s gone.

When I’m outside, I bump Tracy’s shoulder, and she jumps. “What took you so long?”

I brush past her and step to the curb, scanning the line of cabs, town cars, and black SUV’s, looking for Clayton. When our cab approaches and I don’t see any sign of him, I grab her arm. “Just get in. I’ll tell you in the cab.”

As the door shuts and the vehicle lurches forward, Tracy asks, “So, what’s going on?”

“Do you still have the receipt for dinner?”

She looks confused. “Yeah, why?”

“Let me see it.”

She holds it up, and I pluck it from her hands. The folds in the thin paper hide the information I’m after, but as I smooth it out, the clean, masculine print of his name and number appear. A slow grin spreads across my face.

She pushes me on the arm. “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

I glance in her direction, my gaze distant as I begin to explain. “So, on my way out of the bathroom, this big guy starts walking toward me. He steps within inches of me, then asks if I remembered him.” I pause, waiting for her reaction.

Her blue eyes go wide. “Seriously? Was it the guy from the bar? He waited for you and it’s someone you know?”

I nod, smiling. “Remember the hot guy I told you I interviewed when I was in college?”

“You mean the guy you fantasized about for the rest of your senior year? It’s him?” She turns in her seat to face me. 

“One in the same.” If it were possible for someone’s face to split in two from smiling, that would be what mine is doing this very moment.

“Wow! Talk about a small world. What’s he doing in Savannah? Does he live here?”

“I don’t know. I was kind of shell-shocked, so I didn’t say much. He did give us his number, though.” I flash the receipt in her direction. She tries to grab it from me, but I pull my hand back. “Uh-uh. You are not getting your hands on his number.”

She sits back, crossing her arms over her chest. “I just wanted to see it.”

“No way! You would end up calling him and telling him something horrible about me or talk him into setting a wedding date or something else ridiculous. If he gets a call, the first call will be from me.”

Her smile fades. “What do you mean if? You will be calling him, and it will be tonight.”