Page 102 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)
THE ONE I NEVER DRANK
Maggie
I sat at the bar, swirling my drink like I wasn’t still broken—just like I did last night, and the night before that. Every night for the past month and a half. I came here so often, the bartender didn’t even ask anymore. He just brought them in order. My grief menu.
Graham’s favorite drink.
Every night, Jake would set it there in front of me.
I never touched it.
Sometimes I stared for minutes.
Sometimes hours.
But not once, did I bring it to my lips.
The lights and sounds of the evening swirled around me, distant and hollow—like a circus I’d been kicked out of. Between helping the dead move on and trying not to fall apart myself, I was barely holding it together. And I was so damn tired of pretending I was fine.
I didn’t want to think about Graham anymore. But I couldn’t stop the pain or guilt from consuming my every breath. The way he touched me like I mattered. Like I was real. I’d never had that kind of connection before—never felt so seen, so wanted or desired— without a spell.
I told myself I’d move on. That I wouldn’t chase that feeling again.
But I missed it. I craved it. And if I couldn’t have it with him , I needed to find it somewhere else.
I needed someone who wasn’t afraid of wanting me.
Someone who’d fight to be with me, not run because I reminded him of the things he’d lost.
I didn’t just want to be loved. I wanted to be chosen— fears, chaos, curses and all.
Even though Graham said he wanted me, that no one could love me more , he backtracked so fast…
he ripped my heart out when he drove away—like I was a mistake he regretted the second he made it.
I knew he thought he was protecting me, but it just made me feel disposable. Like I was easy to walk away from.
Because love— real love —was a risk. And I wanted someone who’d take that risk for me. Someone who’d see the mess I was, and the mess they were, and still choose me.
But his rejection cracked something open in me, and I felt that need to be the center of someone’s hunger wash over me again. No promises. No illusions. Just raw, sweaty, unfiltered need—loud enough to drown out the quiet voice in my head whispering that I wasn’t enough.
Then, I saw him.
Meticulously polished. Dark blonde hair trimmed to perfection, maroon silk shirt tucked into tailored slacks like he’d stepped out of a cologne ad and into my evening.
His skin was tanned and smooth—he clearly cared about keeping things…
maintained. The cuffs of his sleeves were turned just enough to show off forearms that didn’t belong to a man unfamiliar with effort.
But they weren’t bulky like Graham’s, they were lean, everything about him was lean. He had a different work-out regimen—obviously—maybe running… or biking… something that kept his muscles toned and strong, but quick and agile.
He scanned the bar like he was selecting prey. His gaze flicking past every woman, until it landed on me and stayed there.
Something in the way he looked at me stole the air right out of my lungs. His eyebrow quirked, the corner of his mouth curled into a rakish grin.
When I swirled the Old Fashioned, his thumb slid across his lower lip—desire blooming in his eyes. Heat pooled low between my thighs, and just like that?—
He was the one.
What was it with me and tall, mysterious, and ridiculously good-looking men?
The world narrowed to just the two of us, the hum of the bar fading into silence. My pulse kicked as he stood, silk shirt straining across a sculpted chest, drink in hand. He walked toward me, his gaze locked on mine.
The ice clinked against the sides of the stout whiskey glass as he set it on the bar. His hands were clean, manicured, and it looked like he’d just put a fresh coat of cuticle oil on before he came to the club. Those hands didn’t do manual labor.
“Do you like what you see, pretty thing? ” His smooth, low voice woke the butterflies in my stomach. A sensation I hadn’t felt since Graham left. It didn’t have the same ring as pretty girl . But I figured if I was going to do this—and be all in—I could be this guy’s pretty thing for little while.
I nodded, my teeth catching my lower lip between them.
“Good. Because so do I,” he said, eyes dragging down my frame, like he was already unwrapping me in his mind. “Name’s Hunter.”
My throat tightened, heat rose to my cheeks. I knew this would end badly. But I didn’t care. What was one more mistake?
“Maggie,” I said, offering him my hand.
His palm was warm and confident.
“Do you wanna come back to my place?” I asked, our hands still in a tight grip with one another. I wasn’t going to feel guilty—not tonight. Not for this. Not for doing exactly what I was told.
He smirked, “You don’t waste any time, pretty thing.”
“Nope,” I said, before I downed Graham’s drink in one burning swallow. I leaned in close enough to draw in the sharp scent of his cool aftershave, and whispered against his ear, “ Amorus Fornicatio. ”