“That’s all right,” he says and his thick baritone, with a hint of some sort of accent, is just as impressive as the rest of him. It wraps its way around me like a warm blanket on a cold night. Jesus, has a voice ever affected me like this? Maybe I do need to get out more if I’m reacting to a total stranger like this. “I love it when beautiful women fall all over me.”
I like him instantly. Cheesy line and all.
“That happen to you a lot?”
He smirks and the way that crooked grin looks on his face has my heart rate jacking up yet another degree. “Not really. Are you okay? That was quite the tumble.”
I nod. I don’t want to talk about my less than graceful entrance anymore. “Would you mind if I sit down?” And he thinks about it. Actually freaking hesitates. Just perfect. This is not helping my already frail ego.
I stare at him for a beat, and just as I’m about to raise the white flag and retreat with my dignity in my feet, he swallows hard and shakes his head slowly. Is he saying no I shouldn’t sit, or no he doesn’t mind? Crap, I can’t tell, because his expression is . . . a mess. Like a bizarre concoction of indecision and curiosity and temptation and disgust.
He must note my confusion because in a slow measured tone he clarifies with, “I guess you should probably sit so you don’t fall on me again.” He blinks, something catching his attention. Glancing past me for the briefest of moments, that smirk returning to his full lips. “I think your friends love the idea.”
“Huh?” I sputter before my head whips over my shoulder and I catch Rina, Aria, and Margot standing, watching us with equally exuberant smiles. Margot even freaking waves. Well, that’s embarrassing. Now what do I say? “Yeah . . . um.” Words fail me, and I sink back into myself. “I’m sorry. I just . . . well, I recently broke up with someone, and my friends won’t let me return to the table until I’ve re-entered the human female race and had a real conversation with a man.”
God, this sounds so stupidly pathetic. Even to my own ears. And why did I just admit all of that to him? My face is easily the shade of the dress I’m wearing—and it’s bright motherfucking red. He’s smirking at me again, which only proves my point. I hate feeling like this. Insecure and inadequate. At least it’s better than stupid and clueless. Yeah, that’s what I had going on with Matt and this is not who I am. I’m typically far more self-assured.
“I’ll just grab my drink and return to my friends.”
I pull some cash out of my purse and drop it on the wooden bar. I pause, and he doesn’t stop me. My fingers slip around the smooth, long stem of my glass. I want to get the hell out of here, but before I can slide my drink safely toward me and make my hasty, not so glamorous escape, he covers my hand with his and whispers, “No. Stay.”
* * *
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