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 filling out a fitted T-shirt, tattooed arms folded across his chest. Ink disappeared beneath his sleeves and crawled visibly up his throat, dark lines and shading that caught the neon glow above Monarch's doors. Dark hair sat messily over his forehead, silver jewelry glinting—ear piercings, a nose ring—whenever the lights hit him.

You stared.

Not subtly, either.

Unfortunately, he was even hotter the second time.

Creed was checking IDs without much interest, occasionally stepping aside to let someone through. A drunk man started arguing with another bouncer a few feet away. Creed barely reacted until the man got physical—shoving, getting in the other guy's face.

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. You should have looked away. You didn't. Neither did he.

Creed's attention moved over you slowly—face, throat, the curve of your body beneath your outfit—before returning to your eyes. Something almost amused shifted across his expression. Not a smile. Barely even a smirk. But there was a glint in those dark green eyes that said he'd noticed you noticing him.

Creed took Vanessa's ID first, checking it with a quick, professional glance before handing it back. Then his attention settled on you.

You offered yours.

He took it without breaking eye contact. His fingers were warm when they brushed yours, calloused and steady. His gaze finally dropped to the card—photo, birthday, name—and lingered there a beat longer than necessary.

He handed the card back, his fingers brushing yours in a way that could easily have been accidental. Except his eyes were still on you. Watching. Waiting. Like he already knew something you didn't.