Stella blew out a breath. “No biggie. I’ll call you later.”
They disconnected the call and Stella replaced her phone in her clutch. She spun around on her stool, looking for a table because the bar was packed with obnoxious fans who kept sloshing their beer and screaming at the game refs to remove their heads from their asses. Stella wanted no part of the game action, but her stomach let out a low rumble because she hadn’t eaten anything in hours. Unfortunately, there weren’t any tables available so she was stuck at the bar. Perhaps she’d just order something to go so she could get home to her quiet house and curl up on the couch.
Just as she was about to turn around, her gaze landed on a couple in the back. At first she didn’t think much of them, but the woman with wavy blond hair who’d been busy fawning all over her companion shifted and revealed the man sitting next to her. Stella almost did a double take but knew her eyes hadn’t deceived her. Brandon West could hardly be mistaken for any other man. At least in Stella’s mind. He was too commanding. Too powerful and too mesmerizing.
He grinned at the woman next to him and then laughed at something she said. The restaurant was too raucous for her to hear him, but she knew the sound. Deep and low and rumbling like the growl of a jungle cat. A shiver snaked down her spine at the memory of his laughter and how it had curled around her moments before their kiss. Stella blinked, realized she’d been staring, and averted her gaze seconds before Brandon’s connected with hers.
But had he actually seen her?
The connection had been so quick, a mere moment and nothing more than a whisper of a glance. But Stella had been hooked, like she always was with him, and she looked again. Because she was masochistic like that.
Yeah, he definitely saw her. The woman next to him snagged a fry off his plate and tossed it in her mouth. Brandon kept his attention on Stella as he lifted his glass of beer, or whatever he was drinking, to his mouth and took a slow slip. Stella should have turned away. After all, blatantly staring at someone from across the room was rude. Especially when the person in question had been in the starring role in several of her fantasies. And said person was on a date with someone else.
Yeah. So rude.
Except she couldn’t tear her gaze away when Brandon’s throat muscles worked to swallow his drink. The Adam’s apple in the thick column of his neck moved up and down in a way that shouldn’t have been sexy. How many men’s necks had caused a rash of sweat to build up in between her breasts? And why was she still staring?
Seriously, creepy.
But Brandon stared back as though he knew he had her right where he wanted her. Only when the woman next to him spoke did he break his gaze from Stella’s and place it back on his date. He leaned forward and dipped his head down as the woman said something in his ear. Brandon’s mouth curled up and Stella couldn’t stomach any more.
Was she jealous?
Not just no but hell to the no.
What would she be jealous of? The amazon with the thick blond hair who kept placing her hand on Brandon’s arm? Or the way Brandon kept laughing at whatever the woman kept saying?
Again, hell to the no.
Nope. No jealousy for her.
Stella spun back around on the stool and the guy next to her elbowed her in the ribs again. She was just about to tell the guy to gain some control of his extremities when the bartender approached her.
“If you’re going to sit there, you have to order something,” he told her.
Stella thought about her quiet house waiting for her and the soft couch begging to be sat on. However, thoughts of Brandon and his date were overpowering those desires.
“I’ll have a Bloody Mary. And a basket of onion rings,” she tossed in, just for the hell of it.
One of the bartender’s thick brows lifted as though he saw right through her ploy to act all slick. Like she was the cool chick who frequented bars and knew her way around drinks.
Yeah, let him think whatever he wanted to think.
“You got it,” he said instead of calling her out for the fraud she was.
Stella didn’t drink. Like, ever.
Normally she couldn’t stand the stuff. Hated the bitter taste and the way it burned down her throat and sat like acid in her stomach. But the scene behind her, the man who kept inserting himself in her life, and the whore who couldn’t keep her hands to herself only reminded Stella of how alone she was. By herself. No one to cheer on a football team with. No one to grope in a public restaurant.
Sure she had friends. Annabelle was awesome, but she had Blake now. Ever since they’d gotten engaged, her friend had been spending less time with Stella. Not that Stella begrudged her friend her happiness. After everything Annabelle had been through with a cheating husband, she deserved a happy ending. And Blake Carpenter was the perfect man to give her that happy ending.
So, no. Stella didn’t resent her best friend. Jealous a little? Sure, who wouldn’t be? Jealous of the way Blake looked at Annabelle. Jealous of the way he only had eyes for her. But, yeah. She was lonely.
So why not take a night to herself? Why not throw her inhibitions out the door and let loose? Did the fact that she was by herself make her a tad pathetic?
Probably, yes.
Most likely.
But screw it.
Screw Brandon and screw his whore.
Her drink was placed in front of her on top of a white cocktail napkin. Stella immediately picked the thing up and took a sip. Yeah, that was nasty stuff. How in the world did people drink this shit?
And why did it seem like she was the only one on the planet who couldn’t stand the taste of alcohol? Maybe there was something wrong with her.
Man, she really was a square.
A square who would rather be curled up on her couch or dancing in her studio. Just her and the music. Pretending that she didn’t have a busted knee and no man to wrap his arms around her.
And that thought conjured another image of Brandon leaning forward so his date could whisper sweet nothings in his ear.
Ignoring the burn, Stella tossed back another swig. The bartender narrowed his eyes at her as he refilled a beer glass.
“You might want to slow down with that stuff. It’s not meant to be chugged.”
Stella wanted to tell the guy what he could do with his warning. Instead, she offered a sweet smile. “Is my food ready yet?”
The guy didn’t take being dismissed kindly. His thin lips pursed from underneath his thick Fu Manchu. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”
See that you do.
In the meantime, she would just sit there and play with her drink. And by play, she meant drink. And then drink some more.
Before she knew it, her glass had emptied and her onion rings had been set in front of her. She slammed the glass on the bar and asked for another drink. Because that’s what they did in bars, right? Slammed the glass down and demanded more drinks?
At least, that’s what they did in movies.
And the movies were always right.
But why was that funny?
Had she giggled out loud?