“She was my everything,” I start. “The love of my life. After she passed, I tried the whole group therapy thing. Thought it might help. But all it did was make me more bitter. More resentful toward a God who’d take her from me and from my daughter when shestill had so much life left. I wanted to murder my eyeballs every time someone cried abouthearingtheir spouse’s voice down the hall when they knew they weren’t there.”
Eslin’s gaze softens, her hand resting lightly on mine.
“Group therapy isn’t for everyone,” she says gently. “There’s more than one way to work through grief. You just have to find thethingthat won’t let it fester inside you.”
I arch a brow. “And how doyouknow that?”
She smiles knowingly. “Let’s just say I’ve had my share of rounds in the therapy chair.”
“Noted.” I grin. She’s still holding pieces of herself close. I respect that.
The chords to Journey’sDon’t Stop Believin’start to play over the jukebox, and Eslin’s face lights up—just like it did when we first stumbled across the psychic. The same spark, the same wild little glint in her eye that told me the second I was in her company, the whole world instantly got a little lighter. A little louder. And a hell of a lot more fun.
As the song plays in the background, Eslin leans in closer, her voice playful but curious. “If your life were a movie, what would be the first song on the soundtrack?”
I glance over at her, watching the way the neon light catches the shimmer in her eyes. She’s asking like it’s casual, but I can feel her trying to read my answer before I even give it. I take a beat, actually thinking it through, which is a hell of a lot more serious than I usually take questions like this. Finally, I smirk. “BohemianRhapsody.Queen.”
Her eyes widen with amused approval. “Dramatic choice, Mister.”
“That’s me.” I shrug, giving her a crooked grin. “Dramatic. A little unpredictable. A few moments of pure genius. Definitely way too long and full of questionable decisions that make you wonder what the hell I was thinking.”
I pause, watching her bite back a smile, that little dimple threatening to give her away.
“But you get it. Get them—Queen and other people like us.” I add softly. “Because even when you’re faced with something a little too crazy that was never meant to be tamed or contained in this world...it’s uniquelythem.”
And for a moment, it’s clear I’m not just talking about the song.
“You’ve given this a lot of thought,” she says, but it’s more statement than question.
“Not really, actually.” I shake my head, my voice low. “Not until you just asked me. I just thought about the song that makes me feel the most like me...and blurted it out.”
She tilts her head, studying me in that way she’s been doing all night—like she’s reading all the words I haven’t said yet. “You don’t strike me as the type of man to just blurt things.”
She’s not wrong. I’m not a man who blurts. I never have been.
In my world, you don’t survive like that. You stay guarded. Controlled. Calculated. People are always watching, always waiting—looking for weakness to use as leverage. So I keep my circle small. My cards close. My emotions closer.
But somehow, with her...she sees straight through it. How does this woman see me the way she does and we’ve only just met?
From the moment I spotted her at the club tonight, I knew she wasn’t like anyone else in the building.
There was something instantly familiar about her—recognizable in a way that made no sense, because I knew for sure we’d never met before.
And now we’re talking like we’ve done this a hundred times, and I’m sitting here like some awkward teenager who doesn’t know where to put his hands or how to handle all these big, messy feelings that came out of nowhere and hit me square in the chest.
It’s dizzying. Completely unexpected.
And I want more.
She laughs, tipping her head back. “Fair point.” She taps her chin thoughtfully. “Mine would beSophisticated Ladyby Natalie Cole. Except I’d swap out the knee-length dresses for jeans and sneakers most days.”
I lean in slightly, dropping my voice just low enough to make her blush. “I don’t know, Es... I wouldn’t mind seeing the dress version every now and then.”
Her cheeks flush, and that smile—God,thatsmile—damn near knocks the air out of my lungs.
She flashes me a playful, wicked little wink. “The dress version ain’t nothin’ to sneeze at, either” she teases, her voice smooth like honey with just enough edge to make my pulse spike.
I suck in a sharp breath, battling my brain and my libido like they’re two heavyweight fighters in the ring. She’s been toying withme all night—throwing out these playful jabs, suggestive remarks, practically daring me to cross that line.