"Did you say Bells?" The name slips from my lips in surprise.
Leo nods, "Do you know them?"
Mr. & Mrs. Williams
Request the honor of your presence
at
The marriage of their son
Jeremy Williams
To
Sophia Bell
Could it really be the same wedding?
"The same sounds familiar," I say.
I clutch the invitation tighter, but if Leo notices, he pretends he doesn't.
We stand side by side as we flavor our coffees on the counter. He adds sugar but no creamer to his, I add creamer but no sugar to mine. We share a fleeting look, but neither one of us speaks. The silence between Leo and I crackles with a tension I can't describe, and I like it in ways I don't want to admit. Instead of walking away when I finish preparing my coffee, I stand next to Leo and start drinking it. He does the same. I stare back at him even as he studies my expression. He is trying to read something under the layers of it. He is unapologetically intrusive, but I refuse to cast my eyes away. Not again.
"You don't talk much, do you?" he asks.
His tone is unassuming. I can hardly hear the insinuation that I'm standoffish. It's not that I wouldn't rather be personable, or even charismatic. That would be ideal, of course. Those things just don't come naturally to me, not until I've known someone for a while. I can turn on my people skills when it comes to business, but whenever I find myself in a casual setting with a stranger, I struggle to keep the conversation going. An anxiety comes over me that I'll reveal something I don't mean to. The less I speak, the more confident I feel.
"I'm not big on small talk."
He lets out an exaggerated sigh that seems to be part of an internal joke. "I thought I'd get a chance to know the boss. The elusive Alexis Stone."
"I go by Lex," I say without a moment's pause. Though for the first time in quite a long time, I like the sound of my full name. It may be his voice, somehow gravely and smooth at the same time.
"What's wrong with 'Alexis'? You don't like the name your parents gave you?"
"I don't like it for exactly that reason."
I'm glad he doesn't seem to catch the meaning behind my words. Instead, his expression teeters between polite interest and bemusement. He doesn't seem fazed in the least by the silence following our speech. Anyone else would be twitching in discomfort and itching to return the conversation to a comfortable zone. But not Leo, not this blue-eyed specimen of a man.
God, why am I silently counting down the time it's been since I last felt a man's body pressed to mine?
Stop it.
It's been a while. A long while.
He pours out the rest of his coffee in the sink and I cringe inside, seeing my favorite substance circling the drain. I look down and notice my own cup is all but empty. How long have I been standing here, avoiding his questions but basking in his intense gaze?
He reaches for my cup and asks, "May I?"
"Yes, thank you."
He takes it from my hand and places it in the sink with his.
"Well, Alexis." He pauses, waiting for my objection. The fact he insists on using my full name isn't lost on me, but I don't take the bait of bringing attention to it. He tilts his head forward, and with a quick clearing of his throat he adds, "Nice chat."
I don't miss the sarcasm. I know I'm not the easiest person to make small talk with.
He begins to walk forward and I, anticipating he is going to move to the right, go left. We almost collide. I have to put my hands up in front of me to prevent his chest from pressing into mine.
"Whoa there," I say.
In the fraction of a second my palms feel his chest, I make contact with firm muscles through his shirt.
We lock eyes again. He's close enough for me to smell his cologne. It's a subtle smell, but sophisticated and masculine. Notes of leather and the faintest traces of spearmint trickle through my nostrils. The scent caresses my senses and stirs the impulse to envelop myself in it. On him.
"Sorry about that," he says respectfully as he looks down at me. His tone is detached, but he makes no effort to pull away. In those short seconds, I don't want him to. I nearly blush again.
This is ridiculous. I can't remember the last time I wanted to intimidate someone. A familiar competitiveness roars to life within me. I don't like to feel like someone has something over me. Even if that something is the mere effect of their presence. I want--no, I need--to get a reaction from him. Any reaction. Simply because I do.
I have barely a second to react, but a second is all I need. Leo is a man and if I know one thing about men, they are fickle and predictable.
We separate and, as I walk past him, I lean into him and whisper, "Don't be sorry."
My voice is smooth and suggestive.
When I reach the door, I turn back to see him rooted to the spot. "Goodnight, Leo."
I walk away, feeling a delightful rush of energy run down my core. Seeing him finally react to me in a tangible way makes me feel like I've won. Won what? I don't know, but it hardly matters.
I'm not one to believe in signs, but the possibility of Leo going to the wedding tomorrow feels like a dare. A tug at the center of my belly, urging me to do something I never thought I'd do.
I'm going to crash my ex-husband's wedding.
The resentment I felt earlier is now replaced with an electrifying sense of mischief. I realize I do like Leo. I want to do things to him I shouldn't even allow myself to consider. I can't remember the last time a man's presence stirred me this way.
My excitement seems to coil down and turn into an ache, and my imagination runs wild.
I tell myself that's okay.
The scenarios I entertain in my own head are none of his business.