Ten Below Zero(3)

I turned my gaze to him and nodded. “Please.”

“I guess that answers my question,” came the voice beside me.

I turned my head back in his direction. “Oh?” I asked, coolly.

“I’m waiting for someone,” he explained, swirling the liquid around his glass absent-mindedly.

“Someone named Sarah?” I asked, turning to look straight ahead.

“Yes.” I felt him turn his eyes to me again and take in my appearance. He was seeing the side of my profile that showed off my scar, but he didn’t seem put off, or disgusted by it.

I turned my face to his and stared at him, directly in his eyes. His eyes didn’t waver from mine, not for a second. I felt something stir within me and blinked rapidly in surprise. I couldn’t name it. It startled me. It wasn’t fear or annoyance: the only emotions I felt with any real strength. I guessed it was attraction. When he tilted his head a bit, my suspicion was confirmed. Lust. There was something about the way he looked at me. When he spoke, he commanded my attention. And it was then that I felt the familiar emotion: annoyance. I did not need to feel lust for this complete stranger.

The man next to me was handsome, in a rugged way. His face wouldn’t be accused of being pretty, soft. Instead, his face looked like it’d lived through the effects of the sun, the torture of grief. The faint lines around his mouth suggested he knew how to smile, and did it often.

The only line on my face was cut with a knife.

I forced the muscles in my face to relax. He certainly was attractive, and in another lifetime I might have flirted heavily with him. But I was different now. I made a habit of studying other people, of watching them live their lives. That was how I lived mine - through study; not through experience.

I sipped my drink and looked around the bar. “I guess she’s not here yet.”

He sighed and ran an impatient hand through his hair. “Guess not.” He glanced towards the entrance and tossed back the rest of his drink. He seemed a bit fidgety. Nervous, maybe? I watched his hand play with his glass. His other hand flicked on the lighter repeatedly. Click, click, click. I felt my throat go dry before I mentally chastised myself.

I turned to my drink again. The bartender had placed a pile of sliced limes onto a cocktail napkin next to the drink. I brought one slice up to my lips and placed the fruit between my teeth, pulling the peel away as I ate it.

After placing the third peel onto the napkin, the man in black, who I’d deduced was Everett, looked at me. “Are you actually eating those?”

I nodded and swallowed. I licked my lips on impulse and I didn’t miss the way his eyes followed the movement of my tongue.

When I said nothing, he watched me eat the fourth slice. He’d turned his body more fully to face me and watched me in disbelief. “Isn’t that…sour?” he asked. He looked like he wanted to gag.

“Yes.” I shrugged. “So?”

I ate the fifth one while he watched me, enraptured. I felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny. I was usually the people watcher. No one ever paid attention to me.

When I finished the sixth one, the bartender placed another napkin of slices next to my mostly-full drink. “Thank you,” I said without a smile. I rarely smiled. I wasn’t sure how to do it genuinely. I wasn’t depressed. I just wasn’t emotional.

“It’s rude to stare, you know,” I said matter-of-factly to Everett as I started in on the additional slices.

He shook his head. “I’ve never claimed to be anything else. And I’ve never seen someone eat limes like they’re apples.”

I furrowed my brow. “Neither have I. Especially since the peel of an apple isn’t thick like it is on a lime.” I placed the peel on the napkin and looked at him. “And besides, apples are disgusting.” I didn’t put much feeling in what I was saying, which probably made me sound monotone. I turned to look at him again, my eyes tracing his face. Under his bright eyes were dark circles, making the ice blue of his eyes look even brighter. From the dark circles to the lines on his face, it was obvious he was tired. And something about that attracted me. I liked seeing imperfections; I liked that he wore a bit of exhaustion on his face.

He shook his head, as if in a trance, and turned to his phone. He seemed agitated. “Is Sarah late?” I asked. I felt the corner of my twitch and I brought my hand up to touch it. I’m sure surprise showed in my eyes. The situation was amusing, that I knew. But I didn’t expect my face to react.

Everett blew out a breath and raised his glass to the bartender, the universal gesture for a refill. While the bartender poured his drink, Everett’s fingers flew across the screen before he set it down on the bar.

I bit my lip nervously. A second later, my phone vibrated across the bar’s surface, the noise deafening in our silence. I watched Everett halt in bringing his refilled drink to his lips to look at my phone. It was lit up from the incoming text message notification. He scrunched his brows together and took a sip of his drink.

I took a leisurely sip of my own drink and then carefully placed it on the napkin, smoothing the corners, before picking up my phone. “Excuse me,” I said, turning my body away from his.

Everett: Are you still coming?

I felt Everett’s eyes on me, so I replied quickly, uncomfortable with such singular attention.

Me: I’m here. Hi.

It was all I could come up with.