Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
I wonder briefly if it’s too late to say I’m not okay just so he’ll hold on to me for a moment longer.
Sheesh, this guy is deadly.
“Thank you.” I bow at the waist while backing away.
He chuckles.
Turning on my heels, I head back for the bar as quickly as I can, thanking my lucky stars that I make it there without incident. I hop up on my stool—luckily still available—then motion for the bartender. As soon as I have her attention, I point at my empty glass. She nods.
“Do you mind if I join you?” I don’t even have to look to know who’s asking that question. My body reacts to him the same way it did seconds ago. Goose bumps break out across my skin, and a shiver slides down my spine. The guy who has suddenly become the object of all my fantasies slides onto the empty stool next to mine.
“Sure.” I shrug, trying to play it cool.
He smiles.
“Wesley.” He leans closer to me, and my breathing goes funny.
“Pardon?” His grin shows off a perfect smile and straight, white teeth. I’ve never thought teeth were attractive until now, but there is something sexy about his.
“Name’s Wesley. You are . . . ?” He sticks his large hand out in my direction, and my stomach dances with nervous butterflies as I drop my eyes to it before looking at him once more.
That’s when I notice that his eyes are blue, but not just any blue. They remind me of the beach out on Long Island near my parents’ house, where I spent most of my childhood.
“I’m . . . um . . . Mac . . . Mackenzie,” I stutter, placing my hand in his much larger calloused one as I watch him smile.
“Nice to meet you, Mackenzie.”
“Uh . . . yeah. Nice to meet you.” I nod, feeling his thumb slide over the pulse at my wrist while our eyes stay locked.
“Here’s your change, and a fresh drink,” the bartender says, breaking the moment.
I pull my eyes and hand from Wesley’s as the bartender slides the cash across the top of the bar toward me and sets my new lemon drop down on a fresh napkin.
“Thank you.” I clear my throat, trying to get myself under control. This proves to be impossibly hard to do since I can feel Wesley’s eyes still on me—as well as his wide-spread knees on either side of my thigh.
“What are you drinking?” the bartender asks him.
I pick up my drink, realizing I need to do something with my hands so I won’t fan myself.
“Bud, in the bottle,” he says.
I feel his hand come to rest against my lower back and burn into my skin through my sweater.
I try not to look at him.
The bartender bends at the waist and straightens back up a second later with a beer in her hand that she sets in front of him after she opens it.
“Do you want me to start a tab?” she asks.
I watch in the mirror as he lifts his chin and hands her a credit card. She sets it behind the bar at the register before walking off once more to tend to her other customers.
“So what brings you here tonight?” Turning my head toward Wesley at his question, I wonder if I should lie. Then I wonder why the hell I’m wondering that since he doesn’t know me anyway. It would make no sense to lie to him.
“I was supposed to meet someone here for a drink, but he stood me up.”
“Someone stood you up?” he asks, sounding appalled on my behalf.
My lips twitch into a smile as I laugh.
“Yeah.”
“Idiot.” He shakes his head as his eyes roam over me. He takes a pull from his beer, and my stomach dances once more.
“Why are you here?” I ask after a moment, needing to fill the silence that has settled between us.
“I needed a beer.” He nods toward the bottle in his hand. “It was a long day.”
“Work?” I ask.
He nods once more as his eyes fill with something I can’t understand yet, but know I don’t like. Something about it makes me feel uneasy, like I want to protect him.
“Sorry,” I say softly, fighting the urge to reach out and touch him.
“Don’t be. I’ve got a cold beer in my hand, and I’m talking to a beautiful woman. Gotta say, my day’s looking up.”
The word beautiful makes me feel a little bit guilty. He has no idea that the woman he’s sitting with isn’t who I really am. I don’t normally look like this or drink martinis. He doesn’t know that I prefer to drink beer and never wear makeup unless I have to. Even the clothes I have on aren’t mine. They’re Libby’s. My closet consists of mostly T-shirts and jeans. I want to tell him all that, but I don’t. Instead, I decide to pretend for a little while longer that I’m someone else, that I’m the kind of woman a man who looks like he does would be interested in.