“And if he shoots me down?”
“You don’t have to sleep with him,” Rina reminds me. “Or even give him your real name. In fact, tell him nothing real about yourself. It could be like a sexual experiment.” I shake my head in exasperation. “We won’t bother you about it again,” she promises solemnly. “But he won’t shoot you down. You look movie star hot tonight.”
I can only roll my eyes at that. While I appreciate the sentiment from my loving and supportive friends, being shot down by a total stranger when I’m already feeling emotionally strung out might just do me in. Even if I have no interest in him. But free drinks . . .
Twisting around in my chair, I stare across the crowded bar, probing for a few seconds until I spot the man in the corner. Holy Christmas in Florida, he is hot. There is no mistaking that. His hair is light blond, short along the sides and just a bit longer on top. Just long enough that you could grab it and hold on tight while he kisses you. His profile speaks to his straight nose and strong, chiseled, cleanly shaven jaw. I must admit, I do enjoy a bit of stubble on my men, but he makes the lack of beard look so enticing that I don’t miss the roughness. He’s wearing a suit. A dark suit. More than likely expensive judging by the way it contours to his broad shoulders and the flash of gold on his wrist that I catch in the form of cufflinks.
But the thing that’s giving me pause is his anguish. It’s radiating off him. His beautiful face is downcast, staring sightlessly into his full glass of something amber. Maybe scotch. Maybe bourbon. It doesn’t matter. That expression has purpose. Those eyes have meaning behind them and I doubt he’s seeking any sort of company. In fact, I’m positive he’d have no trouble finding any if he were so inclined.
That thought alone makes me stand up without further comment. He’s the perfect man to get my friends off my back. He’s going to shoot me down in an instant and I won’t even take it personally. Well, not too much. I can feel the girls exchanging gleeful smiles, but I figure I’ll be back with them in under five minutes, so their misguided enthusiasm is inconsequential. I watch him the entire way across the bar. He doesn’t sip at his drink. He just stares blankly into it. That sort of heartbreak makes my stomach churn. This miserable stranger isn’t just your typical Saturday night bar dweller looking for a quick hookup.
He’s drowning his sorrows.
Miserable Stranger doesn’t notice my approach. He doesn’t even notice me as I wedge myself in between him and the person seated beside him. And he definitely doesn’t notice me as I order myself a dirty martini. I’m close enough to smell him. And damn, it’s so freaking good I catch myself wanting to close my eyes and breathe in deeper. Sandalwood? Citrus? Freaking godly man? Who knows. I have no idea what to say to him. In fact, I’m half-tempted to grab my drink and scurry off, but I catch Rina, Margot, and Aria watching vigilantly from across the bar with excited, encouraging smiles. There’s no way I can get out of this without at least saying hello.
Especially if I want those bitches to buy me drinks for the next month.
But damn, I’m so stupidly nervous. “Hello,” I start, but my voice is weak and shaky, and I have to clear it to get rid of the nervous lilt. Shit. My hands are trembling. Pathetic.
He doesn’t look up. Awesome start.
I play it off, staring around the dimly lit bar and taking in all the people enjoying their Saturday night cocktails. It’s busy here. Filled with the heat of the city in the summer and lust-infused air. I open my mouth to speak again, when the person seated next to my Miserable Stranger and directly behind me, gets up, shoving their chair inadvertently into my back and launching me forward. Straight into him.
I fly without restraint, practically knocking him over. Not enough to fully push him off his chair—he’s too big and strong for that—but it’s enough to catch his attention. I see him blink like he’s coming back from some distant place. His head tilts up to mine as I right myself, just as my attention is diverted by the man who hit me with his chair.
“I’m so sorry,” the man says with a note of panic in his voice, reaching out and grasping my upper arm as if to steady me. “I didn’t see you there. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” I’m beet red, I know it.
“Did I hurt you?”
Just my pride. “No. Really. I’m good. It was my fault for wedging myself in like this.” The stranger who bumped me smiles warmly, before turning back to his girlfriend and leaving the scene of the crime as quickly as possible.
Adjusting my dress and schooling my features, I turn back to my Miserable Stranger, clearing my throat once more as my eyes meet his. “I’m sorry I banged into you . . .” My freaking breath catches in my lungs, making my voice trail off at the end.
Goddamn.
If I thought his profile was something, it’s nothing compared to the rest of him. He blinks at me, his eyes widening fractionally as he sits back, crossing his arms over his suit-clad chest and taking me in from head to toe. He hasn’t even removed his dark jacket, which seems odd. It’s more than warm in here and summer outside.
He sucks in a deep breath as his eyes reach mine again. They’re green. But not just any green. Full-on megawatt green. Like thick summer grass green. I can tell that even in the dim lighting of the bar, that’s how vivid they are. They’re without a doubt the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.
“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.”