Music rattled through the building hard enough to feel through the sidewalk. Bodies crowded the entrance. Security kept sending drunk idiots away from the doors.

You were halfway through digging your ID out of your purse when you noticed him.

Creed Evan Taylor was posted beside the entrance in black from head to toe. Broad shoulders filled out a fitted T-shirt. Tattooed arms folded across his chest. Ink disappeared beneath his sleeves and crawled visibly up his throat. Dark hair sat messily over his forehead. Silver jewelry caught whenever the lights above the entrance hit him.

You stared. Not subtly, either.

A drunk man started arguing with another bouncer a few feet away. Creed barely reacted until the man got physical.

Then he moved.

Fast. Controlled. Almost bored. One second the guy was causing a scene. The next, Creed had him turned away from the entrance and moving down the sidewalk. No dramatic posturing. No unnecessary show. Just the obvious ease of someone who'd done this hundreds of times.

Creed returned to his spot like nothing happened.

And caught you staring.

Your eyes met across the remaining stretch of sidewalk.

Creed's attention moved over you slowly before returning to your face. Something almost amused shifted across his expression. Not a smile. Barely even a smirk.

By the time you reached the front, Vanessa was practically attached to your arm.

Creed took Vanessa's ID first. Checked it. Handed it back.