Driving to my brother’s bar, I cringed at facing my actions.  How will she view me?  Let’s get my mind clear.  First, I belittled and degraded her.  Terrific beginning.  Second, I did more of the same shit, but I added some staring and gawking at her lips over a dinner party.  I was pretty close to humping her leg that night, and everybody seemed aware of that fact.  Next, I was caught peeking into her window as she cleaned her house and performed a dance that I can’t even think about for fear of busting a nut where I sit.  Then came the kiss that I attacked her with, which was right after I criticized her yet again, because I was in total awe of her lips.  After that, I write two books, each with the main character based on her.  Lastly, I followed her; stalking the shit out of her.

Fuuuck, I’m twisted.

The thoughts about my behavior were even creepy to me.  By this time, my truck was idling in the parking lot of the bar and I decided just to go home. My infatuation with her was completely one-sided, unhealthy, and without a doubt, would end ugly.

Before I could pull out, Fran’s car turned into the lot.

I blinked as his red taillights flickered through the darkness, and the parking brake light reflected against the bark of the trees surrounding the lot.   Slithering down in my seat, I could hear that wanker’s voice laughing loudly as he slammed the car door shut.  Straining my ears, I couldn’t hear anything from Lainey. I just watched as she quickly walked toward the bar, probably trying to get out of the frigid night air.  When she reached the door, she glanced questioningly towards my truck, then smiled, and slipped into the warmth of the bar.

She smiled?

For twenty-minutes, I listened to the heater fan as it warmed the air in my cab, sitting and contemplating what to do.  There was no talking myself out of going in.

She smiled at my truck.  So in I went.  Seemed like good logic at the time.

I slowly made my way over to my back table.  It was almost five, and there was a small crowd for a Thursday night, but my table was empty.  My table was always empty, even when I occupied it.

Lainey was behind the bar pouring a beer, when her eyes collided with mine.  They stayed on mine for so long that the beer overflowed the cup and spilled thick white foam over the edges and her fingers.  It made my body pulse with arousal.  Twisted, yeah?

Placing my case on the table, I slid out my laptop and opened it up.  My goal was to watch her and get some research down for my next book.  Keying in the Wi-Fi password, I checked my email and opened one from my editor.

Kade,

These were impressive; I wouldn’t dream of changing a thing. Just scan through my notes and make any necessary corrections.

Gary

There were only three corrections for both books?  Usually Gary had more to say.  I quickly typed him a short email, explaining that I wanted to keep the manuscripts out of the publishing house, and self-publish.  I did this with my books every so often, especially if I wrote a book that wasn’t scheduled for publication, which these weren’t.  My publisher hated me for doing it, but I told them they could find another me if they wanted to place rules on the things I did.  Being somebody’s bitch was not in my nature; it went completely against my DNA makeup.

A soft clink of glass against the wood tabletop caused me to look up from my screen.  Delicate fingers slid a drink closer to me and a smooth voice asked, “How’s the hand?”  My lungs found trouble with the task of inhaling.

All my senses were heightened as soon as I looked up. I tried to ignore the overwhelming emotions, but it was of no use.  Spiced apples and cinnamons twirled in the air around me. Five shades of green danced in her eyes as my focused gaze caught hers and my chest just surged.  What the hell was that about?  As I laced my fingers around the brandy, her fingers brushed gently against mine with the slightest touch of almost infinitesimal tremors.  “Just a little scratch,” I answered her hoarsely.

She slid her hands away from mine and pushed them deeply into the pockets of her apron.  Her cheeks started to flare with a deep blush. I tried, but couldn’t stop the slow smile it brought to my lips.  “I’m surprised you still want to be friends, after such an arsehole I’ve been towards you.”

“Friends?” She asked, composed, unsmiling.

“Yes.”

“Yep.  Just wait.  Our friendship bracelets are in the mail,” she said sarcastically.  “Please don’t mistake my being a naturally caring person for wanting to be friends.  Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“A smile?” I whispered.

“That’s not on the menu, is it?”  Calm.  Cool.  Emotionless.

“Fuck.” I took a pull from my brandy, letting the flavor smoothly fill my mouth and burn its fire down my throat. It didn’t quench my thirst though. I wanted a taste of the woman standing before me.  I laughed and looked down, shaking my head.  I cleared my throat, “So being friends is an impossibility?  You’d be missing out.”

“Yep.  I guess I will just have to live with never knowing how great a friend you could be.  It’ll be difficult, I’m sure.  But, with years of therapy and psychoanalysis, I bet I’ll be able to overcome the heartbreak of not getting to know you.”  Her eyes never left mine.  Curt, yet nice and emotionless.  She just completely handed me my own order of sublime indifference and I could have buried myself in it.  “Will there be anything else?”

“No, thank you,” I said, and watched her walk away, smiling at the other customers and going on with her life, with not one ounce of effect from me.

All that night, I watched her work the floor, mesmerized.  She never let anyone touch her; it was as if she would melt away right before their hands went to touch her.  No one touched her but Bree.  Always keeping a distance from everyone like she was more comfortable with being alone than with other people.  She smiled politely and answered when asked questions, but there was something missing.  It was as if she was missing.  Every time my glass was empty, she would bring over another one, but I never caught her looking over at me.  I stayed there until closing.  I stayed there while she and Bree sat with that dolt Fran, and ate dinner after the bar closed.  My brother gave me strange looks, but I just flipped him the finger and ignored him.

I didn’t care how sick I looked.  I couldn’t stop myself; I didn’t want to look away from her.

Lainey leaned against the back of her chair swirling a French fry around her plate drowning it in ketchup, but not eating a bite.  Very prim and proper, she sat back rigid and ladylike.  It made me see images of her on her knees in front of me, seeing how dirty I could get her to be.

Bree was laughing at something Fran had said, but Lainey wasn’t. She didn’t seem to be listening, not even looking at anyone around her, she just stared out across the bar.  Bree touched her hand to get her attention, but she just planted a robotic smile on her face that never reached her eyes.  Then she turned her attention back out across the bar again and her gaze collided with mine.  She didn’t look away.

Seconds.

Minutes.

She did not look away.

Staring at me and me staring at her, our eyes locked, fixed; lost in each other.

Bree interrupted our private moment by taking her plate into the back and walking through the view we had of each other.  It was as if someone cut off my oxygen.  As I sat there, practically gasping for breath, Lainey pushed herself away from the table, gathered her coat and belongings, and walked out the door not glancing back at me once. Fran was hot on her trail.

“What are you bloody doing, mate?” Dylan’s voice asked next to me.

“Drinking.  Writing.”

“You just eye-fucked that girl to death, Kade.  You need to stop whatever is going on in that mind of yours.”

“You just made it so much more tempting, brother,” I said, laughing.

“Bloody hell, Kade.  You’re laughing.  You’re laughing?  You’re barmy, brother.  I haven’t seen you laugh in…” He looked at the table I had been staring at for the last hour and realization dawned across his expression.

Want to hear how deep my sickness runs?  I did it again the next day and the next.  Followed her and ended each night sitting at the same table watching her, delighted as hell a restraining order hadn’t arrived for me yet.

On the third night, the brandy slid across the top of my table and her eyes fluttered down to mine.  “A sketchy black truck has been seen everywhere I’ve been for the past three days.  Intense steel-grey eyes staring me down and peeking in my windows.  You’re the worst stalker I’ve ever met.  What are you going to do now?  Ask me to help you find your lost puppy?  Offer me some candy and shove me in your truck?  Or will it be something subtler, like asking me if your napkin smells like chloroform as you grab me from behind?  Or wait, maybe you’ll just sit here and stare at me menacingly and pet your imaginary cat while collecting strands of my hair to knit a sweater for yourself later.”

“Wow.  Don’t hold yourself back. I really get under your skin, yeah?  Kind of hate me, huh?”

“If I gave you any amount of thought in my head, I probably would.”

I choked down the mouthful of brandy and almost spit it out all over the front of my laptop.  “Are you always this witty?  Or should I be afraid?  And I haven’t peeked in your window since the mop dance. My heart wouldn’t be able to handle it again, although I do find myself listening to that same damn song every night.  And I can’t knit…yet.”