IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(53)

Except that it wasn’t because there was still this damn ache in my chest. Like something was missing. It was the same feeling I got when I left the house without my wallet or keys—that sense of something being amiss but not knowing exactly what.

But I did know what was missing. Conor.

I cursed under my breath and searched the room for my waitress. She stood near the end of the bar, piling drinks onto her tray. She glanced my way, and I lifted my empty glass to signal I was ready for another. And froze. Because there was a familiar form hovering behind her, searching for a spot among the crowd to slip through to the bar.

Conor. His cheeks were bright pink from the cold night air, his hair slightly disheveled.

I blinked, sure I must be imagining things. That somehow I’d been craving him with enough ferocity that I’d conjured him out of thin air. But then my waitress turned, and I saw him mumble an apology to her, sidestepping out of her way as she smiled at him in thanks. That’s how I knew he was real rather than a figment of my imagination.

His eyes roamed the bar, as though he were slightly unsure of himself and his place among the hipsters and bankers. Something inside of me roared to the surface, the need to soothe the crease furrowing the spot between his eyebrows and protect him overwhelmed my better judgment. Overwhelmed any judgment at all.

I surged to my feet, my knee hitting the narrow table and rattling the crystal lamp on top. It was loud enough to cause several patrons to glance my way. Including Conor. His eyes widened when he saw me. He stood at the other end of the narrow room, close to the door, and I watched as his eyes darted toward it as though considering escape.

Hell no.

I strode toward him, my determination obvious enough for anyone standing between the two of us to hop quickly out of my way.

With every step my mind churned with what I wanted to say to him. I wanted to ask him what the fuck he’d been thinking by blowing off today’s meetings. Why the fuck he hadn’t responded to any of Trace’s texts. And why the hell he’d shown up here, of all places, while I was still feeling raw and exposed.

He must have seen the determination in my eyes because as I approached he steeled himself, his back straightening and his chin lifting. Good boy, I thought to myself. I liked that he refused to be intimidated by me, that he seemed willing to stand up to me despite his aversion to confrontation.

But just before I opened my mouth to berate him, he nervously bit at his bottom lip. Every thought in my head vanished, replaced with a desire to reach my hand around the back of his neck and pull him toward me so I could swipe my tongue over the soft flesh his teeth were currently worrying.

Fuck.

He waited for me to say something. But I was too dumbstruck with desire to muster a single word.

“Wells? You okay?” His voice was smoother than the aged scotch and ten times more delicious.

“Fuck, hi. Oh sorry. Conor. Hi. What are you…?” I clenched my mouth shut to stem the tide of verbal nonsense spilling out of me. “What are you doing here?”

His winter-chilled cheeks turned from pink to red. I wanted to cup my palm around the alluring blush but kept my hands fisted by my side instead.

“You’d suggested this place, so I thought I’d check it out.” His eyes swung around the room. “Crowded. Must mean it’s pretty good.” He pushed up onto his toes, craning his neck. “Doesn’t look like there are any empty seats.”

“Join me,” I blurted.

His eyes widened in surprise.

I felt the urge to reach for him, to wrap my hand around his so he couldn’t escape. But instead I turned and made my way back to my dark corner, hoping he followed. Wanting to give him the opportunity to choose whether to sit with me or not.

As before, the crowd parted for me automatically, and I felt Conor tuck in behind me, letting me be the one to cut a path. He even reached out a tentative hand, pressing it lightly against my lower back to let me know he was there. And to keep hold of me so he couldn’t be separated and swallowed by the throng of people.

When I reached the grouping of leather seats in the far back corner, he hesitated only a minute before sitting. I took the chair across from him. Close enough that I caught a whiff of his unique blend of the hotel Bulgari soaps and whatever supermarket products of his own he’d brought with him. It was a scent I knew I’d never be able to replicate for the rest of my life. It was unique to him and this crazy week.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “Are you well?”

He glanced at me from under his lashes before fiddling with the leather-bound menu book. “I’m okay. Thank you. Just… well. It was a hard day. I’m sorry I didn’t come back to the office to sign the papers myself.”

I cleared my throat. “I understand. It’s a big decision. It couldn’t have been an easy one for your family.”

Conor’s eyes widened in surprise. “Yes. Exactly. Thank you for understanding. But you must…” He glanced at me briefly before dropping his eyes and flipping a page in the book. “You must be excited to be able to move forward with your plans now.”

“We have a team already working toward bringing it to market. It will be a while, of course. Hoops to jump through, tests to conduct, regulations to contend with. But it could be a game changer for the industry.”

He mumbled something under his breath I couldn’t hear. I leaned closer. “What was that?”