1
Rain poured and wind pounded the city of Seattle on a cold and miserable March night. Luckily, for all the patrons inside the very happening Ludo Lounge, where ladies drank for half price until eleven, it could be a zombie apocalypse or the rapture and nobody would be the wiser.
The outside world ceased to exist.
Over the last hour, the music in the lounge had picked up, going from smooth, club jazz to full-on dance music with a bass that Scott Dixon could feel in the very deepest parts of his chest. It was no longer cocktail hour—it was time to dance.
Which, for many, also meant it was time to start looking for a hookup.
Not Scott though. He wasn’t there for that, at least not tonight.
He hardly ever saw Donovan Smythe anymore, now that Scott had switched companies. But a couple of weeks ago, Donovan called, excited about his wedding and insisting that Scott come to his bachelor party. Scott, people-pleasing middle child that he was, agreed.
Now he was regretting it.
There was a reason he and Donovan weren’t that close anymore.
Donovan was a bit of a tool, and so were his friends. The group had been obnoxious assholes, hitting on and offending waitresses and talking about heading to a strip club to go and throw quarters at the entertainers.
Scott ordered himself a drink at the bar, turned and leaned back against it, watching the embarrassing theatrics back at the bachelor party table. He cringed inwardly when one of the guys let out a thunderous belch and the rest cheered.
The bartender could take his sweet time making Scott’s drink. He had no intention of heading back to those buffoons anytime soon.
“Drink’s up, man,” the bartender said behind him, only when Scott went to turn back around, a freight train, or something very akin to such, slammed into his side.
“Hey, watch—” His gripe died on his lips as he watched the woman who’d crashed into him teetering on high heels as she hooked it around the corner toward the bathrooms.
“Sorry,” she called back, waving a hand, her long red hair flipping behind her as she disappeared.
He thanked the bartender for his drink but didn’t budge. The bachelor partiers had ordered Donovan a muff diver, and the man of the hour’s face had just been shoved into a heaping pile of whipped cream.
Philistines.
Scott took a sip of his whiskey and leaned his elbow on the bar. There was also another reason why he hadn’t moved yet. He wanted to catch another glimpse of the whirling dervish with hair of fire before he rejoined his group.
It didn’t take long—maybe thirty seconds—before the redhead in the heels returned, her face scrunched up in what looked like pain, her green eyes darting frantically around the bar.
He approached her. “Is everything okay?”
Her eyes stilled, pinning on him. Her lips dipped into a deep frown as she shook her head. “I have to pee and the line for the women’s bathroom is ten miles long. I’ll never make it.”
Scott placed a hand on her shoulder and gently moved her out of the way, glancing down the corridor for the bathrooms with its black painted walls. Sure enough, the line for the women’s bathroom stretched at least fifteen women deep. The men’s room, on the other hand, had no line at all.
He grabbed her hand. “Follow me.” At a quick clip, he hauled her down the hallway and turned in to the men’s room, heaving the heavy door open with one hand while encouraging her to step inside with the other.
Her emerald eyes went wide. “This is the men’s room!” Her voice was low, almost a hiss.
Scott shrugged. “So?”
But her desperation won out, and with a quick eye shift down the hall toward the long line of women doing the bathroom dance, she nodded, then stepped inside.
“Hello?” Scott called out into the bathroom. “Anybody in here?”
Luckily, there was no answer.
His beautiful companion let out a sigh of relief, her slender shoulders slumping just a touch as she pushed past him.
“You go do what you need to do, and I’ll stand watch outside, give you some privacy.” Before she could come up with any more ridiculous protestations, he headed back out.
He still had his drink, so with one hand in his pocket, his shoulder against the doorjamb, he sipped his whiskey and waited for her to emerge.
Not four minutes later, a throat clearing behind him and a gentle tap on his shoulder let him know she was finished. He unblocked the door and held his hand out for her to go ahead of him, not just because he was a gentleman, but also because he wanted to check out her ass.
This woman was hot!
Tall and slim with nice curves, long legs and … yes! A rocking ass. And it was only played up by the sexy black pants she wore and those gold, strappy fuck-me heels. He gained ground, so he was right behind her. Not to be weird or anything—he just wanted to double-check if she was taller than him in those heels.
Phew.
Not quite.
Scott was a nice six-foot-two, and this beautiful creature didn’t quite come up to his forehead. Not that he was an anti-heightest (was that a thing?). He just preferred to be taller than the women he dated.
Whoa, now you’re dating her? You don’t even know her name. Slow down there, Sparky. Just because you haven’t gotten laid in … a while, let’s just leave it at that. Doesn’t mean you need to start picking out china patterns with the first pretty face to cross your path.
He shook himself mentally and stepped back, letting the woman get ahead of him a bit. They exited the corridor, reemerging into the lounge. In those few minutes they’d been gone, the place had filled up. It was wall-to-wall people, loud voices, laughing and some kind of hip-hop music. He couldn’t make heads or tails of the lyrics.
Man, he felt old.
He could still hear his party over in the corner booth laughing it up like obnoxious drunkards though. They were hard to miss.
He was busy glancing in the direction of his party when he was once again slammed, only this time it was in his chest, and it wasn’t by a freight train but a voluptuous, green-eyed wall of beauty.
“Thank you,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re a lifesaver.”
He grinned at her. “All in a day’s work. Glad you’re okay.”
She thrust her hand out. “Eva.”
He wrapped his fingers around hers, loving the way her hand felt in his. “Scott.” Her shake was firm but her hand soft and feminine. Her nails were painted in a subtle French manicure, and she wore no wedding ring.
“Can I buy you a drink for your gallantry, Scott?” She released his hand and pulled her clutch purse out from beneath her arm, her eyes twinkling as her mouth slid up into a mischievous smile. “It’s the least I can do.” Her eyes drifted to the right, and she cringed when a group of women decked out in pink sashes and horrendous wigs let out a loud, shrill cheer. “I’m also not eager to rejoin the bachelorette party I’m here with, so any opportunity to stay away, I’m all for.”
Without waiting for him to respond, she pushed her way through the crowd hovering in front of the bar, rested her breasts on the bar and leaned forward.
Like a dog with a bone, the muscly bartender lasered in on her in seconds, ignoring patrons who had been waiting far longer. “What can I getcha?” he asked, leaning onto the bar, his gaze drifting down from Eva’s face to where her gold heart pendant was wedged between the swells of her breast.