Mr. Sinister, however...
It's as if the darkness is a part of him, and I don't even get the faintest glimmer of who he is. Words like 'mysterious' and 'enigmatic' become an understatement when applied to him, and the fact that he doesn't even bother to look away when I catch him staring unnerves me to no end.
"Be careful with that man," Junk Shop Jimmy warns as I unload the bucket of beer from my tray and place it on the table.
Bench Bob affirms this with a vehement nod while reaching for a bottle. "He's trouble, that one."
Neither of them is saying anything I don't already know, but I surprise myself by low-key defending Mr. Sinister. "You two have a point. I guess I should be more suspicious and judge a book by its cover and all that. Right?" I shoot both of them a meaningful look, and the pair of old rascals, with their respective less-than-sterling reputations, have the grace to look sheepish upon seeing my point.
As I turn away to head back to the counter, I find myself glancing at Mr. Sinister, and my breath catches when he holds my gaze captive. I can feel him practically commanding me to go to him, and my heart starts to pound.
Mr. Sinister is like a living and breathing danger sign, and the mere sight of him should have made me stop and turn back. But idiot that I am, I do the opposite instead, and alarm bells start clamoring inside of my head as the distance between us begins to shrink.
By the time I finally reach Table 4, I'm a complete mess, and I find myself worrying about the silliest of things.
Do I look okay?
Is it too late to check if my underarms have left any gross sweat stains on my shirt?
What did I last eat - oh shit, onion rings!
What if my breath stinks?
What if—-OH.
I'm finally standing in front of Table 4, and a sudden realization makes me forget everything else—-
Blue.
Mr. Sinister's eyes are Paul-Newman-blue, and the discovery makes me feel a little heady.
"Hello."
I feel even more lightheaded when I hear his voice, which is as intoxicating as his appearance. The sound of it is smooth, pleasant, and posh, and it has me taking a quick, deep breath before I trust myself to speak. "Hello."
Something flickers in his gaze when I speak, but it's gone now, and I'm left wondering if I simply imagined it. I probably did, since I thought I saw a particularly hungry look in his gaze, and I just don't see him as the food-craving sort.
"What can I, um, get for you?"
"Could I have a look at the menu?"
"Oh. Sorry about that." Obviously, I was wrong in assuming he wouldn't need one, and I can feel my cheeks heating up in embarrassment as I hand over the bar's glossy menu board.
"Thank you." The sleeve of his jacket inches back to reveal a black Apple watch as he reaches for the menu. I kinda pictured him as the type to wear something a lot more expensive, but I'm obviously wrong, and Mr. Sinister turns out to be more the function-over-flaunting type—-
Whoa!
Our fingers have accidentally touched, and the nano-second contact is more than enough to have my body betray me. Already, my nipples are puckering behind the lace cups of my bra, and I find myself internally cringing.
Oh my God, Sara!
Please get a grip!
My gaze nervously darts back to Mr. Sinister, and the tension eases from my body when I see him focused on the menu.
Perfect.
I look down at my shirt and glare at my nipples.
Behave yourselves, do you hear me?
It takes a few moments, but my nipples eventually go back to sleep, and I quickly take a peek to see if Mr. Sinister has noticed anything...and nope. He's still studying the menu, and I suddenly realize I now have the most incredible opportunity to study him.
He's even more beautiful up close, and a lot taller. He's also more lean than brawny, and just like his voice, the rest of him feels quite, quite posh...but no less intimidating. His hair is a lustrous shade of brown, his skin a deep bronze—-eek!
My whole face is on fire when I realize Mr. Sinister has been watching me stare at him. "I'm so sorry."
"I don't mind."
"Really? I mean..." What is wrong with me? "I'm so sorry. Can I take your order now or do you need more time—-"
"Just a glass of iced tea."
Really?
I manage not to say it out loud though, but—-
"Yes," Mr. Sinister says solemnly. "Really."
Oops.
"I am so, so, so sorry. I wasn't judging or anything. I was just surprised."
"You have nothing to apologize for."
This time, I don't even let myself think of the R-word and simply mumble an excuse before quickly turning away to leave.
God, that was so embarrassing!
I know I'm probably setting myself up for disappointment, but I just can't help taking a peek at him over my shoulder, and oh!