Only With You

01 | gravity

"Hey, what can I get you?" His voice is smoky, like that sizzle when you drop a lit cigarette in a puddle. Coal-black hair swoops over his forehead, and his irises are as blue-grey as a shark's skin.

Damn, he really is hot, but not in an in your face type of way. His stony-yet-gentle features are easy on the eyes. I take a moment to look at him—really look. It makes no sense how a guy can appear so rugged and clean at the same time. Carved cheekbones; the slightest dimple on his chin; a face I swear belongs in a fashion magazine. The model type, more handsome than he is pretty, and he's clearly fit under that plaid shirt. And yet here he is, with a dive bar behind him and a five o'clock shadow over his pale white skin.

It all makes him even more attractive.

Don't stare, Aria.

"Just a Bud, please." I lean my elbows against the bar. My vision gets all wonky, but more liquid courage will help. Before I can even blink, he sets one in front of me and pops off the tab. I hand him a ten, and he gives me back a couple of coins, which I leave on the plastic Jägermeister divider. He smiles when I thank him and moves onto the next customer. My phone buzzes in my hand.

Luna: Sorry, phone died. Come home!

Me: Piss off. I can't believe you ditched me.

You'd think Luna would have my back—we've only been best friends since the first grade. Dad would call me Jupiter, and Luna Kaufman was one of my many moons. But things always get messy when booze is involved. I don't hate Luna for this, but that doesn't mean I can't be pissed as hell.

"Rough night?"

My eyes snap to the bartender. He leans his elbows on the other side of the counter, and I banish all Luna-related thoughts. Time to play it cool.

"Yeah, a little." I bounce on the stool, unable to resist the drunk smile on my face. "My stupid friends ditched me, so I figured I might as well drink until I'm not mad at them anymore."

He half-grins, showing off his laugh lines, and slides a wine glass into the rack overhead. "Sorry to hear that."

I glance around the counter. No customers—now's my chance.

"I'm Aria, by the way." I extend my hand. After slotting a clean dish away, he shakes it. His hand practically devours mine, and his skin is rough, callused, and warm. I get the tingles.

"That's a pretty name." He takes his hand back. "I'm Ryan."

"Ryan. That's cute. It suits you."

"Thanks." He scratches behind his ear. Something about him is definitely different from my usual dating catastrophes. Back in high school, I used to come home with the typical Older Guy covered in piercings and leather jackets. The type who liked me because I was hot, but ditched me just as quick because to guys like them, the chase is the only thrill they want, and there's always another hot girl.

But a guy like Ryan? Composed, handsome, and polite? Even though my experience is limited, I like to think I'm good at reading people. We aren't as patent or precise as constellations, but everyone gives off an aura. Ryan seems like he would've spent his high school lunches in the library, not smoking pot in the forest like me. And those bags beneath his eyes tell me he didn't just wake up on the wrong side of the bed. He's tired, but not I've been working for eight hours tired. He's life tired. Tired all the time.

Black ink pools down his forearm, and I try to catch a glimpse of his tattoo as he pours a beer on tap for a girl on the other side of the counter. After serving her, he comes back over to me.