Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
I swallowed thickly.
Holy shit, that guy was hot. And not the kind of hot that only appealed to a certain kind of girl. He was, like, objectively hot.
My best guess was he was in his mid-thirties, so at least ten years older than I was. He had dark brown hair that was parted on the side and a short, neatly trimmed beard. I couldn’t tell if he was tall or not, since he was seated, but he was in great shape. He filled out his gray t-shirt like he was modeling it, and its sleeves just barely fit around his toned biceps.
I studied the other people at the table, trying to figure out their relationship with one another. It was hard to see them because the bar was busy and the bartenders kept blocking my view, but eventually the woman raised a hand to run through her long red hair, and a wedding ring glinted on her finger.
The man I was interested in lifted his pint glass, showing his ring finger was bare. And the other man at the table wore a ring.
The longer I watched them, the more confident I was I had it figured out. Their body language made them look like a couple. And my guy? He was third-wheeling it tonight.
Did he sense I was watching him? His gaze lifted to mine, causing my breath to catch. Any other girl might have looked away, but not me. I held his gaze while a slight smile curled at the edge of my lips.
I didn’t know why, but I wanted him to know I thought he was hot. The way Preston had ditched me had made me reckless and bold.
The man blinked away his surprise, and then a similar smile warmed his lips.
Oh, God. I was completely unprepared for how much more intensely attractive he became when he smiled. Everything in my body tightened, and I—
“What’re you drinking?” the guy next to me asked.
Nothing, I almost responded, because I hadn’t even touched my drink yet. I kept my answer short, sending a message that I didn’t want to be bothered. “Lavender martini.”
He held up his cocktail glass, making the ice slosh around erratically. “Negroni.”
“Cool,” I deadpanned.
But the guy couldn’t take a fucking hint. “It’s good.” He took a sip and set the glass down with a little too much force, so it banged against the bar. He didn’t notice, though. “You want me to get you one?”
My gaze dipped down to my untouched martini, then back to him, and I delivered a flat look. “I’m good, thanks.”
I angled my shoulders away from him, really hoping he would pick up on my signals. There was another man here I was interested in, and my gaze flitted to his table across the way. Their drinks were almost finished, and a server swung by, dropping off the check, which the hot guy snatched up. I watched the couple protest, but his credit card was thrown down with an easy smile.
If I was going to talk to this guy, my window was rapidly closing.
I picked up my drink and was just about to take a sip when I remembered the reason for ordering it. I snapped a few different shots, some where I was holding the drink and a few where it was resting on the bar. Then, I pocketed my phone and took my first sip. After all, I’d need some liquid courage before I made my approach on Hot Guy.
The martini was great, but I barely got to enjoy the taste.
“So, what’s your name?” The guy who was under the influence of something leaned toward me, making the bar stool creak beneath him.
I didn’t bother with a polite smile this time. Nothing else had seemed to work, so I pulled out the big guns. “Just so you know, I’m only having a drink while I wait for my boyfriend to get here.”
The guy’s expression clouded over like maybe he didn’t believe me. “Okay.” He arched an eyebrow, and his tone turned playful. “You could still tell me your name, though.”
Jesus Christ. “Why?”
That, at least, seemed to have some effect. He looked confused. “Why?” he repeated.
“Yes, why? I want to know why you need to know my name.”
He gave me an innocuous smile. “So we can chat until your boyfriend gets here.”
Fine, I’d be direct. “Sorry, I’m not interested in talking to you. Have a nice night.”
I picked up my drink and was about to move to the now-empty barstool beside me, when the man grabbed my wrist. He did it hard enough it made my drink spill over my fingers.
“What the fuck?” I said.
“Oops, sorry.” His grin was so wide it turned my stomach. “Guess I’ll have to buy you a new drink.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I snapped.
But he didn’t let go of my wrist, not even when I tried to tug it away, making my drink slosh on my hand again. My heart beat faster, and I hurried a glance across the way to the table.