Ex- fiance's Regret 1-3

"Hey, Sharon," Luthor said, his voice dropping into that low, magnetic register that made her heart skip.

Sharon froze behind the counter, her fingers still clutching the damp rag she’d been using to wipe away the evening’s spills. She blinked at him, her dark eyes wide and startled, as if he were a ghost she had accidentally conjured from the shadows of the café.

She glanced down at the plastic name tag pinned to her apron, then back up at him. "Hi," she said, her voice a little breathless. "Can I... would you like something? The kitchen is technically closed, but..."

She looked over her shoulder toward the darkened prep area, her movements jerky and on edge. To Luthor, the vulnerability only made her more captivating. She was already stunning—midnight hair falling over her shoulders in loose, silk-black waves and those deep, soulful eyes that seemed to dare him to look away.

"Yeah," Luthor said, leaning against the counter. "Your number."

Sharon blinked again, her mouth parting slightly. "What?"

"I’m being forward," he admitted, flashing a grin that he knew was his best weapon. "Sorry for that. It’s just... you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in a very, very long time. I couldn’t let the night end without finding out if I could see you again."

A dark flush crept up her neck, staining her cheeks a deep, rosy pink. She bristled, her eyes narrowing. "I’m not a 'thing'."

Luthor let out a short, genuine laugh. Feisty, too. She was the complete package. "I just told you that you're gorgeous, and all you caught was the word 'thing'?"

Sharon shrugged, though she didn't look quite as angry as she sounded. "I don't like being spoken to like I'm part of the furniture. Or the staff."

"I wasn't trying to treat you like staff. Bad choice of words," Luthor said, softening his tone. "How about this: you're the most captivating woman I’ve seen in years. Better?"

She nibbled on her lower lip, considering him for a long, quiet moment before nodding shyly.

Luthor felt a jolt of victory. He was usually much more composed, but this girl was knocking him straight out of his own head. "I'd like to spend some time with you. Would you have a drink with me?"

Sharon dithered, looking at the empty tables and then at the clock above the bar. "I’m not supposed to drink when I’m on the clock."

"Who’s going to know?" Luthor asked, gesturing to the silent room. "We’re the only ones here."

She swung around, realizing he was right. The last of the raucous students had filtered out minutes ago, leaving the café draped in a comfortable, dim peace. It was just past midnight, and the world outside the window felt a million miles away.

"Okay," she said eventually, a small smile finally tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Okay."

She disappeared into the back for a moment and returned with two cold craft beers. She led him over to the corner booth where his friends, Savon and Heppie, had been sitting earlier.

"So, Sharon," Luthor said as he slid into the seat across from her.

"The tag says Sharon, but you can call me Shari if you want. The tag is just for the customers," she said, her fingers grazing the plastic badge on her chest.

"I’m Luthor," he replied, enjoying the way his name sounded in the quiet space between them. "So, Shari, what do you do when you’re not making the best cocktails in LA?"

"I’m a student," she said, her eyes lighting up. "I’m an art major. Senior year."

Luthor whistled low through his teeth. "Art. That’s impressive. And a lot of work."

"Is it?"

"Definitely," he said. He had always admired artists. It was a path of pure passion, one where the majority of people struggled to ever find a footing or a paycheck. To commit to it took a certain kind of bravery. "What about you?" she asked, leaning forward. "What’s your story, Luthor?"

"I graduated last year. Just finishing up a summer internship," he said, taking a pull of his beer.

"And then what? World domination?"

He laughed. "Business school. In New York."

"Seriously?" Her expression drooped for a fraction of a second, so fast he almost missed it.

"I want to make a difference," Luthor said, his voice turning serious. "But not in the way people usually say. I want to build something. High-end, gourmet food, hospitality. Bringing people together around a table."

Sharon laughed, and Luthor felt his heart do a slow, heavy roll in his chest. He could get addicted to that sound.

"What?" he asked, grinning.

"It’s just... you look so much like a boardroom shark, and here you are talking about bringing people together with food." She reached out, playfully nudging his shoulder. "I like it. Passion is a good thing."

"I'm leaving in two days," Luthor said, the words heavy in the air. He didn't want to scare her off, but he couldn't lie to her. "To start my MBA in the city."

Sharon’s eyes widened. "Oh. That’s... that’s very soon."

Luthor nodded. He loved Los Angeles, but New York was the mountain he had to climb. He had big dreams, and he was willing to work himself to the bone to reach them. "What’s the point if there’s no passion, right? That’s why you’re doing art, regardless of what the critics say."

"It’s noble," Luthor added. "What do you paint?"

"Anything," she said, twisting a dark curl of hair around her finger. "Landscapes, abstracts. But I love portraits. People’s faces always tell a story. Even when they’re trying to hide it."

She looked at him then, her gaze searching, and Luthor felt a pull in his gut that was stronger than anything he’d ever felt. He needed to know if she was as unattached as she looked.

"Are you single?" he asked.

The question caught them both off guard. Sharon’s eyes flickered with a brief, sharp pain—the memory of Pete, perhaps—before she smoothed it over. "Yeah. As of about five hours ago, actually."

"Lucky me," Luthor said, his voice a low purr.

She smiled back, and this time it was real. "Yeah, I guess you are."

He downed a swig of his beer, his mind racing. "So, what are you doing for the rest of the night? After you lock up and erase all evidence of our little rule-breaking?"

Sharon shrugged. "Probably going home to sleep. I have an eight A.M. lecture tomorrow."

"That’s too bad," Luthor said.

"Why?"

"Because I was hoping you'd come out with me. To celebrate."

"Celebrate what?"

"The fact that I ran into the most captivating woman in Los Angeles on my last weekend in town." He watched the color rush back to her cheeks and felt a surge of purely masculine satisfaction.

"You are very smooth, Luthor Michaels," she whispered.

"Sharon," he said, moving closer until their knees touched under the small table. "Have you seen yourself?"

He reached out, his hand sliding over the silk of her sleeve to rest on her arm. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through him that nearly made his teeth ache. She didn't pull away; she leaned into it.

"When you're done here," he whispered, "will you come with me?"

"Where?"

"Wherever the night takes us."

Sharon looked at his hand on her arm, then up at his face. "For someone who looks as 'together' as you do, I’d think you’d have a plan. You look like the type of man who controls every room he walks into."

Luthor laughed. "Is it that obvious? I couldn't pass for a carpenter? Or a lumberjack?"

Sharon raised a skeptical eyebrow, her gaze roaming over his expensive shirt and clean-shaven face. "A lumberjack? I can see you in the woods, Luthor. Staring at a tree until it decides to fall just to please you."

"Is that right?"

"I can tell you exercise," she stammered, her face turning a deeper shade of red. "But your hands... they aren't calloused like a man who runs a chainsaw."

She reached out and took his hand in both of hers, turning it over to examine his palm. At the touch, Luthor’s breath hitched. Her skin was so soft, her fingers nimble and smudged with a few faint traces of paint from her morning classes. It was the most intimate thing he’d ever felt.

"So, you think I'm better at negotiating than felling trees?" he asked, his voice turning rough.

She looked up at him, her lips inches from his. He could see the silver flashes in her dark eyes, the moonlight reflecting in the depths of her stare. "Yeah. And it’s better for the planet."

Luthor laughed softly. He could smell her shampoo—something like vanilla and rain. He reached up with his free hand, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and when he leaned forward to kiss her, her eyes drifted shut before he even made contact.

When their lips met, the world outside the café ceased to exist. It wasn't just a kiss; it was a collision. He tasted the beer and the sweetness of her, and when he pushed his tongue against her teeth, she let out a soft, low groan that vibrated against his lips.

The sound sent a surge of heat straight to his groin. He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her closer, his fingers tangling in her hair. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in as if she were trying to merge their bodies together.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were gasping for air. Sharon’s eyes were dark, intense, and hooded with a hunger that mirrored his own.

"Go home with me," Luthor commanded.

Sharon took a small step back, her chest heaving. Luthor felt a flash of panic—had he pushed too fast?

"I have to finish the cleanup," she said, her voice trembling. "I have to close the shop."

"I’ll help," Luthor said immediately.

And he did. For the next hour, the powerful future MBA student stacked chairs on tables and wiped down counters while Sharon ran the industrial dishwasher. He didn't take his eyes off her for a second. He watched the way she moved, the poise in her step, the way her dark hair shimmered like a flame in the dim light. Every time she looked at him, the air between them grew tighter, thicker.

When the last light was flicked off and the door was locked, Sharon turned to face him on the sidewalk. The city was quiet now, the streetlamps casting long, orange shadows over the pavement.

"I don't do this," she said softly.

"Clean up cafés?"

She smiled. "No. Go home with men I just met. It’s not my style."

"I know," Luthor said, taking a step toward her. He didn't want to pressure her, but he felt an ache of need that was nearly physical. "Are you sure? We can just walk. I can take you home and leave."

"No," she said, her voice gaining strength. "I want to. I just wanted you to know that this is... this is special."

Luthor nodded, his heart pounding against his ribs. He took her hand, lifting it to his lips and kissing her knuckles.

"I know it is," he whispered. "This way."

He led her to his car, the night air full of the promise of a beginning that felt suspiciously like destiny.