Page 2 of The Intimacy of Control

God, I was a mess.

I was at Driftwood more than I was at home anymore. My house felt far too empty, far too lonely, and I didn’t really like being there. Which, I mean, was completely my fault. I’d let it get that way. I’d shut myself out from anything and everything except work and the occasional meeting with Callum and his friends.

I lived a really boring, truly mundane life, and I wasn’t sure if that was sad. I knew it was unhealthy at least, but I couldn’t really find it in me to give a shit.

Nothing lived in my house. No plants or pets. The vegetables I’d buy at the grocery store often went bad before I could get to them. My house was less of a sanctuary and more of a place for rot to fester.

Mav had stayed in the closet-turned-makeshift bedroom I’d made for him to sleep in when things got rough at home. At some point, he’d woken up and decided to take the initiative to finish all the usual things I did in between serving customers. I was grateful for him, but I’d have preferred he left it to me.

Control.

Since there wasn’t much for me to do outside of serving, I found myself spending a lot longer on cleaning the same glasses over and over. We weren’t too busy either, which was unusual for a Thursday night. I was getting bored, and we still had a few hours left before we closed.

Melissa was on a break, and Mav was chatting it up with a small group over at one of the tables, probably trying to get extra tips. I was the only one covering the bar, but I was tempted to have Mav come over so I could take a smoke break.

Just when I’d started to convince myself to do that, the door swung open as a man walked in. He looked around curiously before lowering his jacket hood and walking up to the bar, sitting on one of the stools.

I slid down, taking him in. He looked young—far younger than I usually went for—but he was really fucking good-looking. Dark, wavy hair framed his face, flowing down below his jaw. I was almost envious of his beard and mustache, too. It was thick and perfectly groomed, outlining the downright gorgeous smirk he was giving me.

Maybe tonight would be my lucky night.

Tilting my head, I placed my palms on the bar, leaning forward a little. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.”

He raised an eyebrow. Right at the edge was a silver bar pierced straight through it, matching the silver hoop nestled against his nostril. “Probably because I’ve never been here before. Which is a shame if you’re the one usually up here.”

“Oh, yes, what a shame.” I leaned back, smiling down at him. I was hoping it didn’t look too goofy, but how could I not smile at him? He was so hot that it gave me butterflies in my stomach, which didn’t happen often. “What do you want to drink?”

“Depends. Am I just going to get your number, or am I going to get your address?”

Jesus. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth. “Not afraid to seem too presumptuous?”

He tucked some hair behind his ear, showing off the sparkling silver and gold jewelry there. “I’d like to consider myself optimistic over presumptuous, but whatever floats your boat.”

“What will you get if I go home with you?”

“A soda of your choice.”

“And if you get my number?”

The side of his lip twitched. “Paloma, preferably.”

You could always tell a lot about a person by their drink choice. It fit him, just from the little I could tell about him. “Hm. Are you going to offer your name before you offer a good time? Or does that not come with the package?”

He leaned on his elbows, looking up at me through long, dark eyelashes. His eyes were breathtakingly beautiful. Captivating. A soothing, rich brown I wanted to fucking swim in despite giving up swimming decades ago. “Forrest Castillo.”

“Forrest Castillo,” I repeated, trying his name on my tongue. “Jack Manning.”

“Wait, Jack? As in Driftwood Jack’s?”

I chuckled, nodding. “The one and only. I’m the owner here.”

Forrest leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. “Well, shit. Very, very nice to meet you, Mr. Owner. That doesn’t affect my chances, does it?”

I shrugged, glancing down the bar where Melissa was now. “We close soon. I have employees who can close up. The only question, Mr. Castillo”—I leaned down, following him as he came in closer to me—“is how do you like it?”

He searched my eyes, his gaze flicking between them. His lip tilted up into that unfairly sexy smirk like the one he’d had before as he whispered. “How do you need it?”

Something about the way he said it had me in a chokehold. His voice dropped into a sweet, gravelly rasp I would’ve licked the air to get more of. Honestly, I wanted to lick him. See what was beneath the coat he was wearing. I wondered if he had more piercings.