Chapter 4 A New Obsession

I can’t find my voice. I’m too busy trying to regulate my breathing, "Try it," he urges, his gaze dropping to my mouth for one last, searing second. "I'll be back to hear if it hits the spot."

I watch him go, my hand still trembling slightly as I grip the glass. I eventually lift it to my lips, the liquid cool against my tongue. There’s an underlying sweetness....dark, like black currant....

but he hasn't buried my whiskey. He’s highlighted it. The smoky, oak-heavy notes of the Umbra are still there, dancing through the citrus and foam, refusing to be filtered out.

He’s talented. And that realization only fuels the fire.

I spend the next twenty minutes anchored to my seat. I watch him chat with a group of frat boys, flirt with a bachelorette party and an older woman who lingers far too long. He treats them all with the same effortless charm he treated me with.

Because that's his job...

My heart is beating faster now, fueled by a raw form of rage I can’t put into words. It’s not just jealousy, it’s an insult to my gravity. The fact that I’m the only one impacted by this is the catalyst.

I’m not letting this go.

I’m not letting him go.

My conscience warns me to walk away. It tells me that he's a wildfire I shouldn't touch. I ignore it. I haven't been this affected by anyone... ever. I don’t care if he’s straight. I don’t care if he’s a stranger. I’ve found a new obsession, and just like my whiskey, I won’t stop until the outcome is exactly what I desire.

I drain the last of the drink and pull several hundred-dollar notes from my wallet, sliding them under the empty glass as I stand. I’m tucking my wallet into my pocket when a shadow falls over me.

"Leaving so soon?" He's back, bracing his hands on the counter in front of me. He sucks in a theatrical breath, his eyes wide. "Wait. Are you fleeing the scene to avoid telling me just how catastrophic you found my creation? Is it that bad? Am I that far gone?"

I gesture toward the glass, my voice a dry, low rasp. "I drank every drop, didn't I?"

He gives a slow, appreciative nod, his gaze dropping to the empty glass. "You did. So? Don't leave a man in suspense. What’s the verdict?"

I swallow hard, the scent of him hitting me again, even more potent now that I'm standing. "It’s good," my voice is steady despite the thrum in my veins. "Better than good. You should add it to the regular menu."

His face breaks into a genuine smile, one that isn't for the crowd. "Well. At least I got some good news today."

I frown, the memory of his conversation with Ava resurfacing. I tell myself ‘don't ask. Don’t get any more curious than you already are.’

But before I can stop myself, the words tumble out of my mouth. "Are you an actor?"

He blinks, caught off guard, a lock of hair falling into his eyes.

"I heard about a casting call falling through," I add.

He lets out a short laugh, his head tilting just slightly, eyes glinting in amusement. “Oh... you heard that, huh?” He shrugs, reaching out to grab the glass. As he lifts it, he stops. He stares at the stack of hundreds I’ve left behind, his expression shifting from surprise to a baffled, silent shock. He doesn't mention the money, but he looks back at me with a new, sharper intensity.

"I'm a model," he says, his voice losing some of its playfulness. "Well, 'aspiring' is the polite way to put it. There are good days and bad days. Today just happened to be the latter."

I look him over....the jawline, the corded muscle of his arms, the raw, electric energy he radiates. I wonder how anyone with a functioning mind could pass him over. He leans in again, his gaze fixed on mine, a deep, suggestive undertone humming in his voice. "If you ever hear of any opportunities,” he says, a playful lilt to his voice, "...feel free to pass 'em along. I’m all about exposure and networking."

I don’t hide it anymore. I let my gaze skim very slowly down his body, lingering on the way the tank top clings to his chest, before dragging it back up to his eyes.

"I’d need your number for that," I say.

He blinks, his pupils dilating. He does his own once-over of me, slower than before, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip. Without a word, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a crisp business card. He slides it across the bar toward me. I pick it up, the edges crisp against my skin. I don't just glance at it.... I memorize it.

"Kaden Winters."

I say it just loud enough to cut through the bass, the syllables catching in the small space between us. He freezes just enough that I notice . I watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. He looks at me, really looks at me, and for the first time, the playfulness in his eyes is shadowed by something darker.

He gives a small, stiff nod, his fingers twitching against the bar. "Don't wear it out," he murmurs, his voice regaining a hint of that signature rasp. "It’s the only one I’ve got."

I don't smile. I simply run my thumb over the lettering of his name, feeling the texture, the reality of him finally within my reach. The rage that was simmering in my gut has transformed into a cold, calculated hunger.

"Goodnight, Kaden," I say, my voice a low, final cord.

I turn, already calculating how I'll navigate the sea of bodies toward the exit. I’m two steps away when his voice cuts through the noise, sharper than the music.

"Hey!"

I stop. I shouldn't, but I do. I turn my head just enough to see him over my shoulder. He’s leaning over the counter, his gaze burning into mine with an intensity that matches my own.

"I never got your name," he calls out, his brow arched in a silent demand.

I let the silence stretch, the neon lights of the club reflecting in the dark glass of the windows. I feel the weight of his curiosity, the way he’s leaning toward me as if trying to pull the information right out of my lungs.

"That’s because I never gave it," I say.

I don’t wait for his reaction. I don't want to see the frustration or the intrigue on his face. I simply turn and walk out into the cold night, the card tucked securely against my heart, knowing with absolute certainty that when he hears my name, it will be coming from my own lips while I’m pressed against him.