He turned only his head toward me, slowly, with painful caution and mouthed, “Oh shit.”
My eyes locked with his. I leaned in a fraction of an inch. Is that possible? Was it possible for a person to have hair that dark and eyes the color of blue phosphate, like a glacial depth with no end and no beginning? His hair was a longish mess combed back by his black Wayfarer sunglasses sitting askew atop his head. His lips were full and parted enough that I could tell he was breathing in and out through his mouth, his chest heaving. He was wearing a black T-shirt, black pants, and black boots. His face was all narrow sharp angles with two or three days of growth.
“Hello,” he said wearily.
He smelled faintly of Mentholatum and baby powder, as though somehow his breath, although completely pleasant, was thicker than air. Everything about him was intoxicating. I was already intoxicated enough.
I stuck out my hand. “I’m Evey.”
Without moving his body a smidge, he glanced at my hand and stared at it long enough to make me uncomfortable, and then suddenly his eyes were back on mine.
“Lucian,” he said, offering his name but still refusing contact.
“You a germophobe or something, Lucian?”
“Yes,” he whispered, absently as his eyes stayed fixated on my lips.
“My friend who I was with earlier said you were wasted. You don’t seem wasted to me.”
He jerked his head back and scrunched his eyebrows together as if I had wounded him.
The bartender interrupted. “Oh, I assure you, he’s thoroughly sauced. He’s had a fifth of Jameson in two hours. I’m about to cut him off.”
“One more,” Lucian said, pushing his empty glass across the bar. His voice was silky warm. He showed no signs that the alcohol had affected him.
The bartender opened a new bottle, arched his eyebrows, and said, “Same as before?”
“Please,” Lucian said.
“Okay, man. I don’t know how you’re doing it, but you’re not causing trouble, so I guess it’s your call.”
“Thank you,” Lucian said as the bartender filled the entire tumbler up to the top with brown liquid. My eyes went wide as Lucian lifted the glass to his beautiful mouth and took four large gulps.
“Jesus Christ!” I mumbled.
He turned back toward me, startled. “Where?” He didn’t sound angry but surprised.
“Nothing.” I felt strangely comfortable next to him but equally tongue-tied.
I didn’t think I had ever met a guy so uniquely good-looking. He could have been a print model, but his teeth were slightly imperfect. I looked down his long, lean body and tried to picture what was underneath his clothes. He swallowed nervously, and I realized I was making him uncomfortable.
“This place is pretty old,” I said, trying to make conversation.
“I like old,” he replied.
“Well, if you’re worried about my germs, I’d consider this bar top and the dirty rag Chewbacca has been using to wipe it down.”
Lucian didn’t flinch. He glanced at my mouth like he was about to kiss me. “You’ve had a lot to drink tonight.”
Pointing at his chest and smiling, I said, “Pot,” then I pointed at mine and said, “kettle.”
He laughed, and I liked the sound of it. It was contagious.
“You got me,” he said.
“So, tell me why you really wouldn’t shake my hand?”
He stopped laughing, straightened his body, put his glass up, and drank the entire contents of it. This guy could put ’em away.
“Last one, I promise,” he said, pushing the glass back across the bar. This time, he did sound slightly affected by the alcohol.
The bartender shook his head but filled Lucian’s glass anyway, then he looked at me and said, “Will you vouch for me if this guy drops dead?”
“I’m as shocked as you are,” I told him.
Lucian ignored us, took a sip, set down the glass, swiveled his stool in my direction and stuck out his hand. “You’re right.” His voice was rougher, looser from the drink. “I was rude before. I’m Lucian. It’s nice to meet you.”
When his hand met mine, there was a spark of static electricity. We both pulled back.
“Ouch,” I squeaked.
He laughed. “Sorry, try again?”
His hand was warm and smooth. I felt energy in his grasp, almost like the warmth from our connected hands had begun traveling up my arm. I looked at my arm in disbelief just before Lucian yanked his hand back.
“That was weird,” I said.
“Uh-huh.” He was searching my eyes.
“Now tell my why you said ‘oh shit’ when you first saw me,” I said, my confidence growing with every sip of my bourbon. A high, deep dimple appeared on his right cheek. It was the only way I could tell he was smirking. “Well?” I pushed.
His mouth flattened; he took a gulp of whiskey and then set down his glass. Our eyes locked. “I said it because I was awestruck by your beauty.” He was starting to slur, but he still had an elegance about him. Something in his mannerisms was mature for his age and refined, not a typical barfly slugging whiskey after midnight in a dive.
“Oh,” was all I could think to say.
Facing forward, he put his attention back on his drink. When he spoke again, he didn’t turn to look at me. It was as though he was talking to no one at all. “You should call it a night, Evelyn.”
“Excuse me?” I hadn’t told him my name was Evelyn, but I assumed one could guess what Evey would be short for.
Yanking a wallet from his back pocket, he said to the bartender, “Close us out, please.”
When he threw his American Express across the bar, my jaw dropped to the floor. “Oh, I’m sorry, do we know each other? Do you actually think I’m going to leave with you?”
He finished all of his whiskey then picked up mine and finished that as well.
“Hey!” I said. “What do you think you’re doing?” After a moment, he stood and faced me, wobbling and squinting, trying to focus. “It’s finally catching up with you, isn’t it? You’re tossed, man.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I am. Shit.” He held the bar with his right hand, anchoring himself while he signed his receipt with his left. He was very obviously swaying now. “I’m going to use the restroom,” he slurred.
When he stumbled away, Han Solo said, “That guy is gonna die… seriously. You don’t understand how much he’s had to drink.”
“Maybe I should see if he wants me to call someone for him?”
“Yeah, like an ambulance,” he shot back.
“Listen, Han, you were the one who should have cut him off.” I scowled, but Han was watching something behind me. Before I could turn around, Lucian’s hand was on my shoulder. “Mmm.” I closed my eyes. Then I jerked up straight. “Oh my God, did I just do that?”
The bartender nodded, trying to stifle a laugh.
Lucian released his hand from my shoulder, so I swiveled around quickly to look at him. “Do you want me to call someone for you, Lucian? Like a friend or family member? You seem really drunk.”
He shook his head, closed his eyes, and swayed as though he was going to fall down. “I’m going to walk you home. You live close by.”