Glancing over at me, he exhales.
“Go on,” I press. I’ll take anything that doesn’t involve stupid River and his stupid spells.
“Well, Milo and I…” Gibbs hesitates before setting the shaker aside and squeezing the back of his neck.
“You…what?”
I swear I’m not usually this nosy, I want to add, but I bite my tongue because he looks close to breaking, and I’m dying to hear this story.
Carefully, he holds my gaze but stays silent. I can almost hear him weighing his options to see how he can get out of this, but I’ve got to know.
“Tell me,” I laugh. He’s kind of cute when he’s nervous. “I can handle it.”
With a shrug, he gives in. “We… We have the same taste.” Then the shaker is back in his hand as he mixes up another drink, and I’m left wanting. Hard.
“And?” I prod.
“And we used to…” He rims a martini glass with lime, then shifts his gaze to mine. “Share.”
Jerking back, I freeze, afraid he’s a skittish squirrel, and I’ll scare him if I overwhelm him with too many questions.
“Oh?” I offer, because really? What the hell am I supposed to say to that?
He chuckles before giving the briefest explanation I’ve ever heard. “He fell for the girl, but I thought we were all just having fun. Things got messy. She disappeared. And we agreed to never let a girl affect our relationship again, which is why you and I will always be just friends.”
Friends.
I smile. “I’m good with that.”
“Me too. Now, I gotta go deliver these, so I’ll leave you to continue drooling over a guy that doesn’t deserve it.”
“Wait!” I call as he turns to deliver the drinks.
“I want one more shot.”
Shaking his head, he sets the beverages down and fills an empty shot glass with more whiskey before putting it in front of me. “You’re going to be puking tomorrow.”
My face scrunches as I let the amber liquid slide down my throat. After swallowing, I retort, “If I have to watch Manwhore get it on in the middle of my bar, it’ll be worth it.”
“Your bar?” He laughs.
“Damn straight. Now, get to work, Gibbs. Stop slacking.”
Shaking his head with a smile etched onto his face, he picks up the freshly made drinks and disappears to deliver them as I swivel around on my barstool to assess my nemesis. And just like that, my earlier amusement from only seconds ago disappears.
She’s pretty. Soft blonde hair. A little older than I’d expect someone like River to be dating, but hey, who am I to judge? She’s dressed in tight, black leather pants and a black crop top that makes her look like she could star in that old movie, Grease.
Throwing her head back, she laughs at something River says before she keeps scrolling her long, blood-red nails through the pictures on his phone.
Gag.
How many dick pics can you take, River? You disgust me.
“Hey, there,” a deep voice surprises me from my right.
Jumping as if I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t––which is quite accurate because River does not deserve an ounce of my time––I swivel in the owner’s direction, causing the room to spin. Clutching the counter, I find my balance and inspect the guy beside me. The voice’s owner is sporting a soft white Nirvana T-shirt and a pair of dark jeans and has long, curly hair that looks like it belongs to the guy from Outlander. Vision blurry, I squint back at him before registering that he’s the singer from the band.
Whoa. When did they stop playing?
I turn to the vacant stage, then cock my head and listen carefully. Oh. Wait. Music’s still playing. It just isn’t the band anymore. It’s one of this year’s big hits that Ian loves. I groan before remembering that I haven’t acknowledged the guy beside me yet.
Whoops. There go my manners.
“Are you…?” my voice trails off because I have no idea who he is. “The band guy?” I offer with a wrinkled forehead.
He laughs. “Fender. Nice to meet you.”
“Mm-hmm… Hi.”
“And you are?” he prods, clearly amused if the soft dimple etched into his cheek is anything to go by. Hesitating, I inspect it closer before noticing the deep cleft in his chin.
Why does that look so familiar?
He clears his throat before his amusement spreads into a wide, shameless grin.
My attention slides up to his navy blue eyes. “Oh. I’m Reese. Hi.”
“Aw, so you’re Reese. Nice to meet you.”
“Mm-hmm,” I repeat, my head swiveling back to River as if it has a mind of its own.
“Want to dance?” Band Guy asks.
My brows furrow before turning back to the hottie band guy. “Pardon?”
“Dance. You. Me. Want to?” Sliding off the barstool next to me, he raises his hand and waits for me to take it. And because I’m a glutton for punishment, I do.
My legs feel like noodles as––what was his name again?––walks me toward the dance floor.
The buzz from the whiskey turns my muscles into liquid as I sway my hips with the beat of the song and close my eyes to get lost in it. But it does nothing to erase the image of River laughing with his date. His gorgeous date, who probably thinks he really likes her when he’s only looking to get laid. Or at least, I think that’s all he wants. But what if he actually does like her? What if he’s looking for more than an easy lay? What if she’s the girl to finally change his man-whoring ways?
Whoa there, Reese. Now you’re just being ridiculous, a voice whispers in my head. A leopard doesn’t change his spots, remember? Or is it a tiger who doesn’t change his stripes? What’s the saying again? And haven’t I already played this game? I tried to change Ian. I believed he could be someone other than an absolute asshole. And I got burned because of it. Bad.
I shake my head, losing the beat for a split second until a set of hands rests against my hips. Band Guy finds his own rhythm behind me, guiding me while giving me the freedom to stay lost in the music. And I kind of love the freedom. Raising my hands into the air, I let go of everything and just feel without dissecting the why behind those emotions.
For the first time in a long time, I accept the elusive freedom that always seems to slip through my fingers, grabbing hold of it while ignoring my spidey sense that says someone’s watching me. Squeezing my lids closed even tighter, I spin in Band Guy’s arms, then wrap my hands around his neck and smile. He smells good. Different. A little woodsy with a hint of citrus. But good. Leaning a little closer, I take a big whiff, then turn away and shimmy out of his grip and straight into a hard chest.
Ouch.
My eyes pop open, and I raise my hands in defense, my heart pounding a million beats a minute as I look up at the angriest set of green eyes I’ve ever seen. Unable to help myself, I peek around him to the table he had been sitting at, but it’s empty.
“She left,” River growls before sending a glare over the top of my head to my dance partner. “Hey, Fen.”
It doesn’t sound like much of a greeting to me, but what do I know?
“Hey,” Fender returns.
“Shouldn’t you be on the stage right about now?”