The Kiss

few years her senior, he was over the teenage-drama love scene, he’d told her, and she could totally live without it, herself.
    They didn’t go out much; Greg found clubs to be outside his comfort zone. They didn’t see each other all that often, either. Eliza had at first found that weird, but he’d explained that a personality like his felt repressed when he had to adhere to societal norms such as seeing his girlfriend every day or having to talk with her over the phone, so she’d stopped pressuring him. She was proud of how much she’d grown and overcome her insecurities since she’d started going out with him.
    Being with Greg made her always strive to be the best she could.
    She straightened her skirt for the millionth time and brought her compact out of her purse to make sure her lip-gloss was still as shiny as before she’d taken a sip from her coke.
    It was in the mirror that she first saw the man who’d be the bane of her existence for a long time to come.
    He wore a white shirt and faded jeans, and his look screamed danger . It wasn’t his tussled hair, scuffed boots, or the Zippo he kept flicking, as much as his eyes. His gaze was intense, piercing, even under the poor lighting. A shiver ran down her spine when it found hers through the mirror. He smirked, and she held her breath, instinctively knowing that to smile back would be perilous.
    She put the compact back in her purse and concentrated on her drink. Well, tried to, at least. Her mind kept going to the guy, and she couldn’t even say why; it wasn’t like he was her type. He wasn’t tall or buff enough. Or handsome.
    Well, maybe he was handsome, if you went for the bad-boy type. Where Greg emanated calm power, this guy seemed to be a bundle of nerves, on edge—someone she could never feel safe around. Not that she’d want to be around him. Or think of him any longer. She’d only seen him for a split second, after all.
    Someone pulled out the seat opposite to hers, and she found herself looking at a white-clad chest. She raised her gaze to see what she knew she would: the smirk and green eyes that had unsettled her so.
    She gulped, then forced a smile. “That seat is taken.”
    “It is now. By me.” His voice was dreamy. Rough and velvety at the same time, it felt like a caress.
    She scoffed anyway. “No, by my boyfriend, who’ll be here any minute now.”
    “Well, sucks for him. I’m not going anywhere.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her challengingly.
    She shrugged. “It’s your ass on the line.”
    He tapped his fingers on the table. Eliza hated men who chewed their nails, but on him it seemed to add to the bad-boy look. “I don’t think my ass is in any danger,” he said, “but yours could be, if you asked me nicely.”
    She flinched, disturbed at how his voice and words made her body react. She felt her skin flush and her temperature rise… and not in an unpleasant way. It usually took a heavy kissing-session with Greg for that. She was extremely proud of herself for finally saying, “Not in this lifetime. Now leave me alone.”
    “Or what?” The words were uttered slowly, his tone turning the straightforward question into some kind of dirty suggestion.
    Despite his persistence, nothing about him made her feel physically threatened. Holding his gaze, she tilted her head to the side. “What do you mean, or what ? I told you. My boyfriend will beat you senseless if you don’t stop harassing me.”
    His jaw clenched, relaxed, clenched again. “Not that I wouldn’t like to see him try, Eliza, but your precious Greg isn’t coming. He’ll call you.” It took a few moments for his words to sink in, but he was off his seat before she could ask how he knew her or Greg.
    She followed him and caught up with him at the bar. “How… Who are you?”
    “Nate.” He sounded bored. “Greg knew I’d be here and asked me to let you know he wouldn’t.” He turned away from her and threw a buxom blonde sitting to his left some cheesy line, but Eliza wouldn’t leave the matter alone.
    “And if he sent you, why were you such a jerk just now?”
    He looked at her over his shoulder, one hand planted higher up the other blonde’s thigh than propriety would allow. “I felt like it. Thought you needed it. I know the kind of girl your boyfriend goes for.” He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Personally, virgins aren’t my thing.”
    The bimbo next to Nate giggled and, covering his hand with hers,