“Nuh-uh, no way.” She throws a nut at him and wobbles on her stool.
Yep, she’s a bit tipsy.
“I call bullshit. A hot guy like you? I bet every girl tries to go home with you.”
“Like you girls are trying to tonight?” he jokes oh-so devilishly.
Marie vehemently shakes her head because she’s had way too much to drink and is being overdramatic in her movements. “Nope. I have a man, remember? And she’s on strict dating guidelines, so you ain’t getting nothing from us.”
I give him my best she’s right expression while making the letter P with my fingers.
He slides the guy he was helping a beer and places both hands on the bar. “Honestly, there are a lot of beautiful women who walk through these doors, but it can get messy. It’s easy to find a hook-up, but when it’s go time, she’s usually way too drunk to make good decisions, which leads to some pretty regrettable ones. If I get her number and we go out but I’m not feeling it, it’s hard to shake her. What other profession can anyone you know just come to your job and sit there, watching you all day? Stage-five clingers in the bartending industry are hard to get away from.”
“That sounds like it’s from personal experience,” I say.
“That’s why I never hook up with anyone I meet at the bar.” He purses his lips as he makes another drink and walks away to deliver it.
With the alcohol flowing through me, my inhibitions loosen, and I don’t even realize I’m blatantly staring at him as he helps customers, moving around the bar so effortlessly and smiling at every customer he serves. When he catches me staring, he approaches me, leaning his elbows on the bar and getting really close.
I point my finger, which noticeably wobbles due to the alcohol I’ve ingested over the night, at his Ohio name tag on his shirt. “Why does your shirt say Ohio and not your name?”
He laughs out loud. “Like Marie said earlier, it’s supposed to be a conversation starter. I grew up outside Cleveland. You look surprised.”
“I assumed you were from here. My co-worker Tom said this is a great place for locals. I try to stay away from the tourist traps, where I’ll meet some douche with a what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas mentality.”
He shakes his head with a smile at the slogan. “It’s called Sin City for a reason. We don’t get a ton of tourists in here, but it still gets some attention. Everyone comes from somewhere originally, right? What brought you to Vegas?”
“My job,” I state matter-of-factly.
“She works for the new stadium,” Marie hollers out.
I hold up my palm to him. “No, I can’t get you football tickets.”
A hearty laugh escapes his lips. “Do you get that a lot?”
“You have no idea. I work on the operations side that fills the stadium with other acts. Almost every date I’ve been on, the guy asks me that question, and I have to do the whole song and dance on how my business and the team’s business are separate entities.”
“Dating a woman who can get tickets on the fifty-yard line would be appealing for most men, including myself, but I’m more of a concert guy anyway.”
“Then, she’s your girl!” Marie smiles with her arm raised in the air, her fingers pointing at my head, opening and closing as if flashing like a vacancy sign.
When my eyes meet with Nic’s heated gaze, a chill runs through me, but I push it aside.
His Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow. “So, tell me, Evette, which letter of the alphabet was the best?”
I sigh. “Clearly, none, or I wouldn’t have moved on to the next letter.”
“They couldn’t have all been jerks.”
“Not all of them,” I muse, thinking back to a couple who were fine, just not for me. “Some have been pretty cool but not my type.”
“I thought you were trying to avoid your type. Wait, what type of guy is that exactly?”
“Give me a surfer guy with a tan. An adventurer with a laid-back spirit. That’s my kryptonite, for sure.”
Yes, men like the ones I fall for are harmless to most women but seem to cause serious harm to my heart.
“Too bad. I’m most definitely the kind of man you should avoid.”
I almost choke on my drink at his comment.
“So, you surf?” he asks with intrigue as he hands me a napkin.
I shake my head as I wipe my chin. “Um, no. I can barely ride a bike. I said, I like surfer guys. Not at any time did I say I surf.”
“You do realize, you live in the desert now. Not many surfers out here.”
“I know. That’s why I’m trying to date my way through the alphabet, so I can date all kinds of guys and maybe find my new type.”
He nods his head in understanding, which makes me feel better.
“I’ll tell you what. I can’t have my new friend leave the bar without completing her mission, so …” He turns to the register and taps on the computer screen. He flips through the screen tabs and then turns around, leaning toward me. “You see the guy at the end of the bar with the blue button-down? Go talk to him.”
I hold Nic’s stare for a second, wondering where he’s going with this request, and squint my eyes as I search his to find out. His expression gives nothing away, so I take the bait and look to the left at the good-looking guy having a drink with his friend.
“Gin?” I ask as I notice the man’s glass with a lime in it.
Nic smirks. “Yep. Go get ’em, killer.”
I shake my head and bite my lip. “I’m not looking for a man based on what he drinks.”
“Will you just do as you’re told? I’m practically handing him over to you.”
I look at Marie, who is watching the exchange between Nic and me. She widens her eyes as if to ask, What are you waiting for?
Nic nudges his head a touch in the direction he wants me to go in.
I let out a deep breath and stand up, finding that I might not know Nic from Adam but there’s something about him that makes me feel like he wouldn’t steer me wrong. Now, Marie, she’ll send me into a pack of wolves if there’s a slight chance I’ll come out uneaten. But Nic? No. I don’t have the feeling he would. I don’t know him well, but in the few hours I’ve been sitting here, I’ve learned the man has no filter. It’s as if he can’t be bothered to lie or hide the truth. Life’s too short, I suppose.
I smooth out my dress and push my stool in. “Here goes nothing,” I say to myself.
The man at the bar is talking to his friend, who has his back to me. As I get closer, the man in the blue shirt lifts his eyes to me in intrigued surprise.
“Excuse me. Can I get that cocktail menu?” I ask, pointing to the leather-clad folder propped up on the bar top near him.
“Here you go.” Blue-Shirt Guy hands it to me. He’s good-looking with a humble-as-pie smile.
“Thanks.” I pretend to mull over the menu. “I’m a little unsure on what I should order. My friend over there says what you drink says a lot about you.”
“Oh, really?” He leans back, intrigued.
“Yeah, especially when it comes to men. A beer means you won’t take risks while a vodka straight up … well, you might as well be living in your mom’s basement.”