“What were you two talking about when I interrupted?”
He shifted his eyes off me and onto Bob/Bill, who seemed to turn green around the gills, clearly afraid to say. Propositioning this man’s significant other was not good for his health.
“Oh, um…” Bob/Bill grabbed the knot of his tie and wiggled it, finding it extremely tight all of a sudden.
“Oysters,” I said, willing to spare Paul’s cousin a possible slow and merciless death. He was pretty sleazy but harmless enough, especially with Mr. Cowboy, aka the gorgeous cowboy, beside me. Mr. Cowboy somehow made me feel protected, sheltered and safe from any of Bob/Bill’s less honorable intentions. He made me feel… feminine in comparison to his ultra-masculine presence. It could have been that I only came up to his shoulder or that his bicep was the size of my neck.
I darted a brief glance again at Paul across the room. He winked at me then was pulled back into a conversation. He had sent this guy over to save me from Bob/Bill.
“Oh, you like Rocky Mountain Oysters? I’m not that much of a fan of eating fried bull testicles. I’ve cut enough of them off to know what they look like first hand for me to want to eat ‘em.”
“Fried…” Bob/Bill glanced at his plate, swallowed hard.
“You don’t look too good.” Mr. Cowboy gestured with his chin at Bob/Bill who now had beads of sweat dotting his brow to go along with the off pallor. “Ready?” he asked me, his eyes raking over my face and giving me a wink of his own. “I thought we could sit outside for a spell.”
Without waiting for me to answer, he took my hand and all but dismissed Bob/Bill. His hand was so big, mine was all but swallowed up. While I could feel callouses on his palm, his touch was gentle, which was surprising for a man who seemed so… aggressive, as if the calm exterior was just a façade, and he had tension and energy coiled and ready to be unleashed, especially when aimed at a man who bothered me. When his thumb brushed back and forth over the back of my hand, a chill went down my spine.
Ready? To go off with a hunky cowboy?
2
EMORY
Nodding, I faked a smile and let the cowboy lead me through the bar. Everyone seemed to be looking at us, at him, for he had the bearing and presence that screamed Get out of my fucking way.
I placed my glass on an empty high top as we walked by. Mr. Cowboy let go of my hand—he had a drink in his other one—to push open the door to the outside patio and held it for me. The seating area wrapped around three sides of the building although windows only flanked the wall that faced the mountains.
The air was warm, a striking contrast to the air-conditioned interior. It wasn't the hot day that made me overheated. It was for an entirely different reason. As the door closed behind us, the noise of the restaurant and bar became muffled. The sun had set behind the mountains, but twilight would last awhile and change color until darkness took over. The lights of the downtown buildings around us were coming on, and the view reminded me why I loved living in Colorado.
Couples and small groups chatted by the railing and around small arrangements of patio seating areas, so he pointed with his drink-filled hand around the corner. There, it was quiet, and I moved to sit in one of two chairs that looked out over the pretty view.
Since Christy was in love, she wanted everyone else to be too, but guys like Bob/Bill weren’t making me eager to change my Facebook status to In A Relationship. Regardless, she and Paul had tried to get me back out there now that Chris was away at college, but using this guy—holy hell.
My life had been about raising Chris for so long, I didn’t know how to be just me, the woman, not the mom. And now, it was just me and this insanely good-looking guy, and I didn’t know what to do. It was one thing to talk to Bob/Bill, but I was flustered and tongue tied and overwhelmed by this man.
“Would you mind if I sit with you?” His voice was deep, cool and calm, patient.
My heart did that whole leap-into-my-throat thing as I looked up at him. Only a few feet away, he appeared a tad dangerous. His nose had been broken. I’d been right about that. There was also a scar that sliced through his left eyebrow, the whiteness of it a stark contrast to the short, dark hair. He smiled and waited.
“Oh, um. Sure.”
Gripping the back of the chair and leaning in, he murmured, “You don’t seem so sure.”
“I… I just wondered why,” I replied, sheepishly. My insecurities were showing. While I felt confident in myself as a mother, at my job, when it came to men like him and the blatant selection of younger and more nubile women at the bar, I felt lacking. With me safely away from Oyster Man, he could return to the bar, his chivalry accomplished for the night.
He frowned and a little crease formed in his brow. “Why?”
“Why you want to stay here… with me.” I pointed in the direction of the bar. “I’ll tell Paul you saved me, which you did, so thank you. You’re off the hook.”
He sat then, leaning forward, so his forearms rested on his thighs. The corded muscles were hard to ignore, and I had to wonder what the rest of the tattoo looked like, partially hidden beneath his snap shirt. All of his attention was once again squarely on me, as if there wasn’t anyone else he wanted to talk to, to look at. To be with. “Maybe I don’t want to be off the hook.”
Oh. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t do anything but realize he wanted to sit with me—me!—and I felt something shift inside. Something good. “Oh.”
“I brought you another drink.”
He held a highball glass, filled with an icy concoction with two lime wedges floating on top. Condensation trickled down the sides.
“Thanks, but I was drinking—”
“Water,” he cut in, finishing my sentence and placing the glass on the low table in front of us. His dark eyes once again watched me closely, calmly. It was as if he could shut out all the other patrons of the restaurant, the noise of dishes being stacked, even the subtle music, and give me every ounce of his attention.
“Yes,” I admitted, my eyes widening. How did he— “You’ve been watching me.”
Paul gave this guy his seal of approval, but everyone who heard their neighbor was an axe murderer swore they had no idea after a gruesome murder. I didn’t see an axe although there was no question by his solid, hard, amazing body he could hurt someone without one. I felt wary and nervous now… in a completely different way. I didn’t want him to be a creep.
He leaned back in his chair and held up his hands in front of him. “Oh, hey, I don’t want to see that pretty smile go away. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to pick you up.”
My spine stiffened, and I felt my cheeks heat. “Of course not.”
Why would he waste his time picking me up when there was the bevy of easy women inside? Surely, he just needed to crook a finger, and they’d come to him panting. He was… really, really attractive. Intense. Bob/Bill was pretty handsome, and he was a creep. This guy was more. He had presence. Confidence. He dripped testosterone from his pores, and the way I was practically panting over him, no doubt pheromones as well. He wasn’t working it here—he didn’t have to. He just… was.