Chapter 5 Teachers probably shouldn't drink in places where the bathroom soap costs more than what my hourly wage breaks down to. That was the consensus Jules and I had come to as our overpriced martinis clinked together at the too-glossy cocktail bar nestled into the edge of downtown Atlanta. It was the kind of swanky velvet-and-glass spot where the lighting was low enough to make everyone attractive and the prices high enough to make sure only the right kind of attractive people stuck around. Jules, naturally, fit in without even trying. Her sleek black dress, meticulously styled ringlets, and perfectly paired gold jewelry made her look simultaneously scandalous and rich. Her lashes were curled perfectly, her lipstick blood red against her darker skin tone, her grin sharp as a knife. No one would know she taught in a criminally underfunded school. I, on the other hand, was wearing a dress I got on final clearance two summers ago at Ross and shoes that pinched in one place and slipped in another. The waves in my hair were fighting the Atlanta humidity, my makeup was rushed since I hadn't had the luxury of booking Jules' birthday off work, and I had exactly eighty-nine dollars left in my checking account until payday seven days from now. "I swear to God," I said, sipping the last of my martini down like it was liquid gold, "if they charge me twelve dollars for tap water, I'm leaving." Jules snorted. "You say that every time we go out." "I mean it every time we go out. Especially this time." I pushed up and out of my chair in a huff as she giggled, turning to one of her other friends I hadn't even bothered to learn the name of because I'd been so far in my own head all night. All of the last two weeks, really. When I'd gotten off that barstool on the flight, I thought I'd be able to forget about it. I thought I'd be able to file the man with the gravel voice and the hands that ruined all logic away in a neat little box inside of my head, thought I could wipe away the way he'd made me whimper against his palm, or the way he'd made me come without direct stimulation for the first time in my goddamn life like some kind of weird body whisperer. I might have been able to if I hadn't heard his name. I still hadn't told Jules what happened. It wasn't the kind of thing you just said, not when the man in question was Ryan's fucking brother. I wove through the small sea of tables and velvet booths, heading for the bar tucked into a glowing nook surrounded by an absurd amount of potted plants and hanging ivy. The cocktail bar was loud, but not from music - it was all laughter and murmured conversations and drinks clinking, low beats of money and indulgence that I'd once again found myself in despite not being a part of it. Jules' fault. I ordered a water, refused when they tried to hand me a glass bottle and insisted on tap, and put up with the way the bartender's face scrunched like I'd kicked a puppy and waited for him to fill up a glass with ice. The back of my neck prickled. It wasn't anything specific. Just an odd shift in the air, the feeling of being watched. I glanced behind me, toward our table, expecting to find Jules waving her hand and asking me to get her another drink. But she was still talking to what's-her-name. I scanned the rest of the bar, but nothing stood out, nothing out of place, no eyes on me. But the feeling lingered. The bartender slid my glass across the bar like it physically burned him, and I grabbed it, turning on my heel to head back for the group. Something shifted in my periphery. Movement caught my attention at the edge of the far booth beyond the wall of plants, barely visible past the oversized monstera and the ridiculous hanging ferns that apparently passed as decor. Hazel eyes. Just for a second. Sharp, fleeting. And a flash of silver hair. It was gone just as quickly as it appeared, and my stomach twisted. No. Couldn't be. I was simply going insane, obviously. I took a step toward the table, and the booth I thought I'd seen was empty. Nothing there but shadows from obnoxiously angled lights and a cold feeling of déjà vu. Clearly, I needed a lot more money in my bank account so I could afford more drinks to drown out the thought of him. I shook it off and went back to the table, Jules already halfway through a story that I barely managed to understand, laughing where I was meant to, nodding when that seemed appropriate. I sipped at my free water with a hint of shame as I forced myself to push it all to the back of my mind. It was Jules' birthday, for Christ's sake, I didn't need to be thinking about him. But then a tray of drinks appeared with a slightly confused-looking bartender, a whole extra round arriving at the table, and I was two seconds away from strangling whoever had ordered me another drink that I absolutely couldn't afford when the bartender opened her mouth. "Just wanted to let you know that the tab's been taken care of," she said. Jules blinked. My brows furrowed. What's-her-name whooped. "Seriously?" Jules asked. The bartender glanced at me before setting down a martini in front of me. "The gentleman said to tell you, 'Thanks for choosing first class.'" The world dropped out from under me. I stared at her in her stupid suit-and-tie uniform and pristinely styled blonde curls. "What?" She shrugged and straightened up, tucked the tray under her arm, and walked off. Jules leaned toward me. "Sienna," she said carefully. "What the hell does that mean? Is that, like, a code? Did you flirt with someone while getting a water? You look like you've seen a ghost." "I didn't-" I stopped, mouth dry, heartbeat slamming against my ribs. First class. First fucking class. That meant two things: Matthew Strathmore was here, and he knew that I knew who he was. The breath in my lungs turned to ice. I scanned the room without thinking, trying to keep my breathing under control and battle off Jules' incessant questioning. If he were here, if he'd said that, then he hadn't left. I looked past the bar, the booths, the low candlelit tables set against the back wall, the gaudy velvet, the plants-and then I stilled. Tucked into the far corner, half-obscured and shadowed by a trailing vine and a whole-ass tree someone thought would do well inside a lowlight cocktail bar, a pair of hazel eyes locked with mine. Matt. That same easy confidence oozed from him as he leaned back in his seat, the body I'd dragged my hands over two weeks ago now covered in a dark grey button-up and a tailored jacket, one hand clutching a glass of amber liquid I could only guess was whiskey based on his order on the flight. He hadn't moved toward me. He looked at me like he'd already won. He lifted his glass slightly toward me, a hint of a smirk breaking out across his lips, and crooked two fingers in a come here motion. It wasn't aggressive, wasn't demanding. But it was expectant. "Sienna," Jules said carefully. "What the fuck is happening right now?" I shook my head as I set my water down slightly more aggressively than I needed to. "I-I just need to go to the bathroom." Her eyes narrowed as I pushed back up from my chair. "You don't look like you need to pee. You look like the IRS has just audited you." I swallowed. "I'll explain later. I swear." I didn't catch what she said as I slipped around her seat and walked. I tried to hide that a full-blown panic attack was bubbling beneath the surface and threatening to come up for air as I crossed the bar in heels that hurt and slipped, tried to hide that I was approaching a man that I'd had the most intense, unrepeatable sex of my life with. Matt's eyes didn't leave mine for a second. I reached his table and stopped, my throat closing in as I gripped the back of the chair opposite his. The soft murmurs and clinking of glasses and laughter from a table that was far too drunk suddenly felt deafening. But maybe that was just my heartbeat thundering in my ears. He grinned at me. "Hello, Sienna."