I sat at the bar nursing a mojito.
Acid music pumped through the speakers so loudly I could feel the heavy bass vibrating through my chest. Staring into the clear liquid of my drink, I twirled the straw and watched the sprig of two mint leaves dance in the funnel I’d created. Then there was the lone lime segment chasing the paired and connected mint leaves down to the bottom of the glass. It never quite caught up, bobbing just above as if it were watching them have all the fun.
I couldn’t help but think it was a metaphor for my life. Always watching other people fall in love. Always finding love out of my grasp.
221’s face then appeared in my mind yet again. His long hair. His green eyes. That long black hair, his hand holding mine, the feel of his length under my palm …
Shit!
Suddenly, the chair moved beside me, making me jump. My hand flew to my chest and my heart skipped a beat. I glanced to the side to see a young dark-haired guy sporting black geek glasses and an expensive three-piece suit slip into the neighboring leather seat.
Holding up his hand to signal the bartender, he flicked his blue-eyed gaze my way, a slow grin instantly pulling on his defined lips. Forcing myself to smile back, I watched in rapt attention as his eyes dropped to my bared shoulders, over my white strapless top and down to my skintight Armani jeans. His nostrils flared as he drank in my over-the-knee boots and my long blond hair that fell to the middle of my back.
A few seconds later, his eyes once again met mine, and knowing he’d been caught, he quickly cleared his throat in embarrassment. The grin he was wearing immediately spread into a wide smile, which showcased his perfectly white teeth. He was pretty damn good to look at—tall, broad … attractive. He looked like a lawyer or someone who just got off work. Or a professor … yeah, a hot-ass professor.
He was cute. My type before …
Talia, you need to get 221 out of your mind! I admonished, making myself look over at Mr. Professor once again.
“Hey,” he shouted over the music.
“Hey,” I replied just as the bartender flicked his chin at Mr. Professor, clearly impatient to take his order.
Turning, Mr. Professor placed his order of a double Grey Goose vodka on the rocks. Pausing, he flicked his gaze to my drink and, smiling, added, “And another mojito for this beautiful lady.”
The bartender moved away to make the drinks and Mr. Professor turned to me. “I didn’t catch your name,” he shouted as the music switched to a heavy dance beat.
Pushing myself to respond, I replied, “That’s because I never gave you it.”
He nodded and pursed his lips. “Okay, point made.” He leaned in closer, his strong musky cologne filling my nose. “But don’t I deserve it after buying you a drink?”
On cue, the bartender placed our drinks down on the counter and Mr. Professor passed him his credit card without taking his eyes off me. Reaching out to grasp his glass of Grey Goose, he raised it high, nudging his chin in the direction of my mojito.
Sighing, I lifted my glass.
Throwing me another heart-dropping grin, he leaned forward and said, “Cheers…?” His request for my name hung in the air.
Shifting forward on my seat, I leaned slightly forward, and informed, “Talia.”
Mr. Professor nodded. “Beautiful name for a beautiful lady.”
Tilting my head to the side, I asked disinterestedly, “And yours?”
“Brandon.”
Brandon, I thought. Such a normal, bland American name.
Bright lights from the dance floor reflected off the lenses of Brandon’s Tom Ford glasses. Clinking my cold glass against his, I toasted, “Cheers to you, too, Brandon.”
I took a small sip and the ice-cold drink ran down my throat, the strong white rum adding to my already growing buzz. I coughed. This drink was strong.