What He Wants by Hannah Ford Page B

completely in control of himself and his surroundings.
    The cocktail waitress appeared as if out
of nowhere.   “What can I getcha?”
    “Two Manhattans,” the man said.   He set his empty glass down on the
waitress’s tray.   I didn’t know
what a Manhattan was, but I was pretty sure it had whiskey in it.   Whiskey sounded dangerous and scary,
the kind of thing you shouldn’t be drinking unless you had sophisticated tastes
and a high tolerance for alcohol.
    “Oh, no,” I tried.   “I’ll just have a – ”
    But the suited stranger flicked his
wrist, sending the waitress away before I could finish.
    He turned around and gave me a
smile.   “It’s good to try new
things.”
    “I try new things.”   My tone was more defensive than I’d
meant, but it was kind of a sore spot for me.   I wasn’t known for being adventurous – in fact, the
most adventurous thing I’d done lately was taken a hot yoga class – but
this man didn’t know that.   He
didn’t know anything about me.   And
yet he was surveying me with a certain familiarity, like he could tell I was
the kind of person who didn’t try new things.   It was unnerving.
    The man’s eyes raked up my body, like he
was trying to decide what, if anything, he should do with me.   Instantly, I felt self-conscious, and I
shifted on my chair.    “You
here by yourself?” he asked.
    “No.”   I swallowed.   “Bachelorette party.”
    “Fun,” he said, sounding like he knew it
was anything but. He gestured to the candy bracelet I was wearing, another one
of Cora’s bright ideas.   “What’s
with that?”
    “Oh,” I said, fingering it.   “It’s … it’s kind of game.   You know, for the party.”   I gestured to the dance floor, where most
of the party guests had morphed from dancing to completely over-the-top, crazy
gyrating.   Men, sensing their
chance to possibly get lucky, had jumped into the mix, creating a colorful blur
of sweaty bodies.
    My companion didn’t even turn to
look.   “And?”
    “And what?”
    “And what are you supposed to do with
it?”   He reached out and tugged on
the bracelet.   His fingers against
my skin sent an electric current flying up my spine.   The elastic bracelet zinged back and hit my wrist.
    “It’s too embarrassing to mention.”
    “Try me.”
    The waitress returned with our drinks,
and the man grabbed them off the tray in one fluid motion and handed one to
me.   I hesitated.   I didn’t usually drink.   In fact, I’d just turned twenty-one.
    “Well,” I said, taking the glass he was
offering.   “We’re supposed to get
different men to bite one of the candies off, and then have them sign our
arms.”
    He laughed. “That’s the stupidest thing
I’ve ever heard.”
    “I know.”   I shrugged.   “But how could I really say no? Everyone else was doing it.”
    “Do you always do things just because
everyone else is doing them?”   A brief
look of amusement crossed his face, like he couldn’t imagine doing something
just because everyone else was.   Then he reached out and took my arm, turning it over to inspect my
wrist.   “You don’t have any
signatures.”   His finger slid over
my pulse point, then moved slowly up my elbow before he finally let go.   His hands weren’t what I would expect
from someone wearing such an expensive watch – his fingers betrayed
something else, a hard past or maybe manual labor.   They were manly and slightly rough, not the kind that came
from typing briefs all day and dialing an Iphone.  
    I took a sip of my drink.   It was definitely whiskey.   Or, at least, what I imagined whiskey
to taste like since I’d never actually had whiskey before.   It burned
going down, but I was glad.   The
sensation kept my mind off what was happening.
    The stranger reached out and took my arm
again, turning it over gently in his hand before raising it to his mouth.   Then he reached down and slowly,
deliciously, bit one of the candies