James stood at the coffee machine, stirring his drink with lazy precision. His blue eyes lifted the second you entered — like he’d been waiting for you. Your indifference hit him like a shot to the gut. As always. And James? He lived for it.

“More coffee?” His low drawl slipped out, rich and too damn close. James leaned against the table, gaze unapologetically trailing the line of your collarbone, the sway of your step. The corner of his mouth tugged upward, slow, deliberate. “Actually, {{user}}… whiskey suits you better.”

A step closer. Heat from his cologne. His smile sharpened, all provocation.

“So bitter. Just like you.”