☽Ⓛ❈Ⓒ☾

"Are you sure you don't want another shot, Rhea?" Harriet asks.

I shake my head and smile politely. "No, thank you! I'm good with my cocktail."

I hold up the colourful drink. She shrugs off my reply and necks three shots herself. I grimace, picturing the burn she must be feeling in her throat right now. The other girls cackle with laughter at Harriet's screwed up facial expression. Dinah grabs a passing staffer and orders another ten shots.

No way am I doing a second one, the first nearly killed me.

I watch the bartender make the drinks from a distance and my stomach churns at the thought of more tequila. I agreed to a work's night out in attempt to be social, but I didn't realise that my co-workers are such heavy drinkers. Nothing wrong with that, but I can't match them.

The two cocktails and one shot that I've had already are more than enough to get a buzz going. I don't want much more or I'll have a banging headache tomorrow morning. Luckily, it's a Friday night and we have the weekend off.

I spot the staff member coming over with the tray of shots and I make a tactical move to go to the bathroom.

"How convenient," Harriet comments dryly as I slip down from the barstool.

I ignore her. Harriet has never liked me. Since my first day, she's made almost no effort to get to know me and rebuffed all my initial attempts at conversation. She's never shy from getting in a dig, though. I don't like those types of people, those who are negative and feel the need to spread their bitterness to others.

I wait in the queue for the bathroom, use the toilet and come out. The girls have necked all of the shots and are now taking over the dance floor. Other people are diving out of the way, dodging flailing hands and rogue elbows. There's some interesting moves going on, for sure.

Before they can spot me and drag me into the chaos, I go over to the bar and take the only empty bar stool. When the bartender asks what I want to drink, I order a lemonade. This alcohol and powerful air con has made me thirsty.

I pull out my phone and check my notifications. Typically, only my mum and Domino's pizza have texted me.

You're so cool, Rhea.

I'm tempted to tell the girls that I'm going, but my pride won't let me. My feet hurt but I'm dealing with it because this strappy stilettos are new and they look great. I spent over an hour on my make-up and painted my nails. I'm even wearing false eyelashes, something I haven't done in ages. I'm wearing a dress that hasn't been out of the wardrobe for almost two years and my frequent visits to the gym means it still fits me like a glove.

No. I've made such an effort, I can't leave before midnight.

I can feel someone's eyes on me. I look around and find the owner of a pair of warm hazel eyes looking directly at me. He smiles widely, the kind of smile that immediately makes you smile back. It's a reflex, I don't think about it.

A part of me can't believe that a man this handsome is actually looking and smiling at me. A sick feeling poisons my stomach as I consider the fact he may be smiling at someone behind me. I look over my shoulder to check.

I find no one looking in our direction. When I turn back, the man is smiling wider. His shoulders are moving slightly and it looks like he's chuckling. That makes me blush, knowing that he's laughing at me.

He gets down from his stool, comes over to the man next to me and whispers something to him. The seated man looks at the handsome man, then at me, and then nods. He stands up and swaps seats. The handsome man now sits down next to me.

He traded seats to be able to sit next to me.

"Hello," he says, smiling again.

He's even more attractive up close. I can't quite tell the exact colour of his hair in the club, but it's dark. He has a model's face, such beauty isn't fair. I have no idea why he's showing interest in me. I know I'm dressed up and looking more attractive than usual, but I'm not on his level.

"Hi," I reply shyly.

Why didn't I order another drink? I could do with the courage to talk to him right now.

"I take it you didn't want to dance with your friends?" He asks casually and nods his head in the direction of my coworkers on the dance floor.

I glance over my shoulder and laugh as I notice that there is a metre gap between them and everyone else. People are clearly giving them a lot of space.

"I didn't want an accident," I reply. "They're like bulls in china shops when they're dancing."

The man looks at them with amusement and then turns his hazel eyes back to me.

"Yes, they are. I'm Ryker, by the way."

A/N: Ah, the stereotypical male shifter name. Right up there with Hunter, Xavier and Ryder ❤️

"I'm Rhea," I reply shyly.

I twist my hands on my lap and wonder for the millionth time why this man is talking to me. I'm not complaining, though. This is the most interesting thing that has happened to me all evening.

"I hope you don't mind me saying this, but you seem different from your friends," he comments and then looks awkward, as if he regrets speaking. "I'm not saying that's a bad thing! Sorry. I just mean you're less...gregarious."

I chuckle at his chosen terminology. "Uh, yeah, I guess. Dancing and clubs aren't my usual scenes, I'm a bit out of my comfort zone. They're my coworkers."

"Ah, okay. What are your usual comfort zones, then?" He seems genuinely interested, which surprises me.

"Um, I'm more of a cinema and library kind of person. A nice restaurant? I guess."

He nods and smiles. "Okay, I see that. What about a bar?"

"Better than a club."

His smile widens. "What is it you do, Rhea?"

The way he says my name makes me clench my thighs together. He seems both nervous and confident at the same time, it's a sexy combination. It's like he has the confidence to speak to me, but is conscious of saying the right thing. I don't know why he's so bothered about making a good impression with me.

"I'm a carer at a nursing home," I tell him, feeling both embarrassed and proud of my job.

I work damn hard and I work long hours. I get abused by the mentally unwell patients and I see people at some of the worst points in their life. I lose patients weekly and it can be really horrible at times. Everyone knows that carers are massively underpaid for the work they have to do. There is a national shortage because people in this career are so screwed over by salary.

"Wow, good for you. That is such an honourable job."

I shrug. "Most days, I enjoy it. What do you do?"

He hesitates for a moment. "Um, I run an exclusive club. A country club."

"That sounds interesting. Do you offer golfing and stuff like that?"

"Uh, yeah. All kinds of things, really."

We move off the topic of jobs and an hour passes without me realising. Ryker offers to buy me a drink and I accept. It will be my last one and I want to keep talking to him. The girls don't bother me, I know they must get off the dance floor at some point, but they leave Ryker and I to talk.

Dinah comes over at half eleven to tell me that they're moving on to another bar, she asks if I'm coming with them. Her eyes scan over Ryker and she gives me a look of approval. She's the nicest of our staff.

I don't miss the look of disappointment on Ryker's face. I have no desire to spend any more time with them. I don't mean that in a rude way, but we spend most days together and I'm obviously not on the same page as them tonight. I choose to stay with Ryker, which makes him very happy.

At his suggestion, we leave the club and move over to a quieter bar on the other side of the street. We stay there for an hour, talking and laughing. It's like we're old friends and kindred spirits. We read the same books, like the same films, have the same opinions on controversies and politics. We even have a very similar sense of humour, hence the constant laughing.

He's like the male version of me, but the attraction is still there. Throughout our conversation, our arms accidentally brush, or our legs touch under the table. Those tiny little connections send my stomach flipping.

The music gets louder and we have to lean in closer to hear each other. Each time I inhale, I get a whiff of his delicious smell. It's like a drug, slowly drawing me in and sending me into a pleasure-filled haze.

"This is crazy," I tell him as we walk out of the bar after midnight. "It's honestly like I've just met my best friend."

He grins at me. "You have," he replies easily. "A sexy best friend, I hope."

My cheeks warm up and I nod. "Very sexy."

Ah! Where did that come from?

"Very sexy, huh?" He smirks. "Sexy enough that you would let me kiss you?"

It's a fuckboy line, but I don't care. There has been so much sexual tension brewing between us, bubbling under the laughs and bonding conversations. Each time his hand has brushed my arm, my back, my leg, it's like a bolt of excitement has shot through me.

Now that he has mentioned it, all I can think about is kissing him.

"Yes."

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆✥⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆