Strange Warning
Our small group shuffles into the dimly lit establishment, the sound of clinking glasses and raucous laughter an assault on my introverted nerves. Mike, ever the gentleman, pulls out a chair for me at a high-top table. How chivalrous.
"Allow me," he says with a wink that makes my skin crawl.
I slide onto the seat, hyper-aware of Mike settling in beside me. His arm snakes across the back of my chair, a move so cliché I almost laugh. Almost.
"What's your poison tonight?" he asks, leaning in close enough for me to catch a whiff of his cologne. It smells familiar. Like the kind of cologne half of the men in the office would wear.
Not enticing and unique like Logan.
Logan. The thought of him sends a pang through my chest. What I wouldn't give for him to walk through that door right now and rescue me from this nightmare.