With a sturdy body and slicked-back black hair, he reminded me of someone in the mafia. He even had a flowing Tommy Bahama shirt and a slightly affected Italian accent.
I wanted to ask if he was from New York or the surrounding area, but that would have required starting a conversation. I bit back my curiosity and stared straight ahead.
“They always this slow?” the man asked, looking around like he could conjure up another bartender if he scowled hard enough.
“No. Usually she’s pretty quick.”
“Huh.” The man leaned back and opened his legs wide, as if his dick were as big as an elephant’s and had no business being sandwiched between a mortal man’s legs. His knee nudged mine, totally invading my legroom.
I didn’t budge. He needed to come to grips with the feel of his balls. All there was to it.
“So anyway. You here on vacation or what?” The man jerked his chin, accentuating his question. Clearly he was passing the time. I welcomed the rude, brusque tone. It was a nice change.
“Work.”
He grunted and leaned further on the bar, tracking the movements of the bartender. His lips thinned as he glanced around him and then looked me over. Without expression, he said, “Had a bad day?”
“Yes, actually. Trying to fix it with Jose Cuervo.”
He huffed. “Yeah. I hear that. I’m here for a wedding. Flew ten hours so I could stand around in the sand and sweat my balls off, know what I’m sayin’? Doin’ the bachelor party here.” He scratched his chin and leaned in to me while looking elsewhere. “No offense or nothing, but Hawaii is a chick’s place. Layin’ out, gettin’ massages—that’s stuff chicks do. So what are we going to do for a bachelor party?”
“Get girls drunk and ask them to kiss each other?” I tried.
He coughed out a laugh. “I’d rather just pay them a flat rate. Then it’s a sure thing.”
“Probably true. But where’s the challenge?”
He turned straight again and put his hand in the air. That was the moment the bartender decided to travel to the other side of the bar to help someone not strictly on her turf.
“What’s this broad’s problem?” he muttered. After a quiet moment, he leaned toward me again, his body clearly moving wherever his focus was directed. “So work, huh?” He put out a hand with his pinky pressed against my shoulder. “Am I buggin’ you?”
“Your pinky ring is bugging me, but no, you’re fine. It’s a nice change from the guys hitting on me.”
He put his hand back on the bar. “I bet. When I have a drink with my sister, she’s got knuckleheads hittin’ on her all day long. It’s not a good way to treat a lady, I’ll say that much. You should make sure you carry pepper spray, just in case.”
“Got it.” I took a sip of my drink.
“Pretty cool you get to come here for work, though. You know, bein’ a chick ’n’ all.”
I laughed. “Yes. True. I laid out today. As you see.”
He glanced over. His gaze lingered on the patches of red on my shoulder. “Missed a spot.”
“Thanks. I hadn’t noticed the burning sensation.”
He barked out a laugh as the bartender finally walked over.
“Yeah, I’ll take some beers. Whaddya got on tap?” he asked, bracing against the bar with his elbow.
I zoned out for a moment as they went over the beer options. I came to when I felt his pinky against my shoulder again. “You need anything?”
“No, I’m okay. Thanks.” I gave him a genuine smile.
He nodded and finished his order. When he was done, and the drinks—three of them—were placed on the counter, he stood and wrapped his large hands around the pyramid they created. “Take it easy.”
“Thanks, you too. Enjoy your wedding.”
A grunt was his only response.
I followed his example and leaned heavily against the bar. In all honesty, I felt a little lonely in his wake. He had that dry, I don’t give two shits kind of mentality that Rebecca had. It was fun. And entertaining.
I sighed and decided to get the check. I’d go back to my room, open the door to the warm night, hope a flying cockroach didn’t come in, and look at that concrete rooftop.
“I found you.”
My stomach flipped over. I turned slowly toward that baritone voice I somehow recognized like I’d been hearing it all my life. That was always the first sign of trouble.
Three
A handsome smile greeted me below beautiful blue-green eyes.
He stuck out a large hand. “We never properly met. I’m Brad.”
Without my shield of jaded, I was struck dumb for a moment. His sparkling, slightly hooded eyes offset his straight nose and strong jaw. A five o’clock shadow gave him a masculine quality that made tingles float up my spine like champagne bubbles, heightened by the almost regal arch of his brow. And that was just his face. The man was a stunner, no two ways about it.
“Hey, Brad. Delilah.” I took the proffered hand and then abruptly turned back to my drink. In all honesty, I was a little shell-shocked.
“May I sit?”
He was the first one to ask.
I motioned to the open seat. “I’m your huckleberry.”
“My what?”