Page 101 of The Player

“The one on your neck.” I pointed to his neck like he didn’t already know where it was. “It’s kind of scary and cool at the same time. The whole spider web and the word ‘death’. What made you get that?”

He didn’t respond right away, just scribbled something on a form he was filling out. I regretted the words the minute they’d come out. What the hell was I doing, questioning his choice of body art? I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

But then he spoke, and the deepness of his voice made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“At the time, I thought it was cool, edgy.” He shrugged like it was nothing. Then he turned around, leaning over me again as I sat at my desk, trying to play it cool, and I swear my heart skipped a beat as he brushed his arm against mine to put the pen back in the tidy. “Why? Does it scare you?”

The way he asked me that, with a hint of that edgy darkness in his eyes, made my toes curl, and I shook my head.

“I like scary,” I said, and he grinned.

“I like a girl who isn’t afraid to admit what she likes.”

“Ugh, enough already,” Jess huffed. “Just swap numbers or arrange a date. Then you can do this weird mating ritual on your own time.”

Jess rolled her eyes, but I glared at her until he turned back to look at me, and then I plastered a smile on my face. Mister Dark-Broody-Tattoo-God wouldn’t want my number, and I hoped he’d let me down gently, but he didn’t need to.

“I think I can manage that,” he rasped in such a sexy voice that I was glad I was sitting down; my knees wouldn’t have held my body if I were standing because they were now made of jelly.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Abigail,” I replied breathlessly.

“It’s nice to meet you, Abigail. I’m Isaiah. Are you free later?”

“I am.” I waited for him to say something, tell me where he was going to take me, or where we’d meet, anything. But he just grinned, shut his laptop, picked it up and sauntered to the door.

“I’ll see you later, then,” he said, and left me without a plan, a date, or the ability to breathe or think like any rational, sane person.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I turned to Jess, who was staring at the door, looking as clueless as I felt.

“I guess he wants to surprise you.” Then she gave a wicked grin. “He has tattoos, a bad boy air about him, and he’s a dog lover. He’s the perfect guy for you.”

I glanced back at the door he’d just walked through, with Jess’s words ringing in my ears. I hadn’t had the best of luck with guys. I always seemed to choose the losers, but he had a job, he seemed… normal. Perhaps she was right?

“Maybe he is.” I picked up the pen he’d used from my desk and twirled it between my fingers. “Maybe Mr Right does appear from under your desk one day, looking like every dirty dream you’ve ever imagined.”

“Amen to that.” Jess laughed. “But something tells me”—she pointed at the doorway—“with a guy like that, you’ll be the one getting down on your knees.”

“With a guy like that, I’d do it.”

The End.