Maybe One Day by S.A. Clayton
“You have an admirer,” Remy whispers, nudging her head in the direction of the bar and when my eyes follow hers and see the delicious specimen that has now locked eyes with mine, I take a shuddering breath. Never in my life have I seen a man like him. Tall, expertly styled hair that falls strategically into his eyes and a jaw lined with just the right about of scruff that allows me to imagine what it would feel like between my thighs.
“Holy shit,” Maya mutters beside me, my eyes flicking to hers and she smirks, wagging her eyebrows in approval. “That man is seriously delicious.” She's not wrong and I force my eyes to stray from Mr. Delicious and find Remy’s knowing smile.
“He might be edible but I’m not here for that. I’m here to celebrate the fact that you’re getting married next weekend.” Remy rolls her eyes as if she knows it's an excuse to stay rooted in place.
“Bullshit.” My eyes widen, shocked she actually said that. Maya spits out her drink, the same shocked expression on her face. “What? It's true. The only reason you're not going over there is because of Chuck and I'm sick of that dick getting in the way of you having a good time.” Maya nods in approval.
“Not you too,” I mutter, taking a small sip of my drink, my eyes flicking to Mr. Delicious as he leans against the bar, his eyes never leaving me, even when the bartender hands in a drink and says something into his ear. I watch with rapt fascination as he takes a sip, his throat working in tandem as the liquid descends, and just when I think he wouldn't get sexier, he winks, smirking as my eyes drop from his.
“You should go over there. He obviously likes you. I mean he's been undressing you with his eyes for at least the last ten minutes.” Remy says, Maya, agreeing with a smile. I take a breath, the idea of a man watching me like that sends a shiver of unease through my body. As much as I’m flattered that a man finds me attractive, the stalker behavior is sending me red flags.
“Stop overthinking this. I know Chuck put you through the wringer and now you’re weary of every man in the room, but you need to get over him.”
“I am over him.” My answer is way too quick, and from the look on their faces, they agree. “Fine, I’m not over the situation. Chuck can die in a burning car crash and I wouldn't care, but he shattered my ability to trust men.” They both nod, knowing the weeks I spent crying in my apartment, wondering what I did to deserve to walk in on him fucking his young and gorgeous blond-haired, blue-eyed assistant and learning they've been doing it most of our relationship.
“Fine, I will give you that but you have to see it from our perspective. How are you ever going to trust a man again if you don't date? Are you going to become one of those cat ladies that sit on her porch, swinging her cane at all the kids that walk on her lawn?” I grimace, the image sending bile up my throat.
“Urgh, fine. You win. I will go over there, but I will not promise that anything will happen.” They both smile, that smug look on both of their faces. I take one last look toward the bar, seeing that Mr. Delicious is still there, eyes no longer on me but on the man standing in front of him. For a split second, I hesitate, the uncertainty lingering on my skin.
“Go,” Remy says, holding out my drink and I down it, grimacing at the burn of the alcohol as it travels down my throat. “Do it for me, go shoot your shot because I guarantee that man wants more than a conversation.” Yeah, that's what scares me.
