“All out,” he calls as he walks away with my money.
I look down at the four shot glasses, pondering what to do. There’s a simple solution, but I’m on my way to total drunkenness and it’s not coming to me, so I start to negotiate the tiny glasses between my fingers, confident I can manage them all in one go and save me an extra trip to our table…which is twenty feet away. “Damn,” I mutter, knocking one and spilling the stickiness all over my hand. I start to lick at my fingers, lapping up the creamy concoction, set on minimal waste. Then I take the remainder of the shot and knock it back, reducing my carry to three glasses. Far more manageable.
If you’re totally sober. Which I’m not. I accept my change when the barman slides it across the counter to me. “Thanks,” I call, starting to collect the three remaining glasses in my hands. Another one goes over, and once again I lick the mess from my hand.
“You’re not doing very well there, are you?”
The amused voice pulls me around, my lapping tongue around my fingers slowing to a standstill, my eyes widening at the sight of the man standing next to me at the bar.
Holy…shit.
I’m not often rendered speechless. Never, in fact. Now I’m making up for it, and I can’t figure out if it’s too much alcohol or the awe I’m in. So fucking hot! I take in every teeny tiny piece of him, from his shoes—which, it should be noted, are very stylish tan Jeffery West brogues—to the very top of his beautiful head. I say beautiful. I’m not sure it’s complimentary enough. Classically handsome, maybe? Jaw-dropping? Stunning? Nothing seems adequate. He has scruff. Yummy scruff that I guess is a result of not shaving for at least five days, and his gray eyes are ridiculously twinkly. Like little stars are popping in their depths. His hair is cut close to his head at the sides, but longer on top and manipulated to the side. Just long enough to hold on to…
I gulp down my wonder. The man can dress. Casual. Easy. A lovely fitted shirt, collar open, sleeves rolled up, loose and hanging out of his fitted Armani jeans. Did I mention he had good shoes?
“Need a hand?” he asks, eyeing me with…what is that?
A hand? Where would I put that hand? I tilt my head in silent contemplation, now staring at his hands. Big, capable hands, one wrapped around a bottle of beer. Then my eyes are lifting, following that bottle until it reaches his lips. His mouth opens. I catch sight of a sliver of his tongue, and his lips wrap around the bottle, his head tipping back. The throat. Holy shit, the throat. The swallow. The quiet gasp.
The colossal blast that’s just happened in my knickers.
I flinch and cross my legs on the spot. I have no fucking clue what’s going on inside me, but it’s snapped me out of my ridiculous inertness. “Shots!” I blurt, making a grab for the glasses. “Hey, I ordered four,” I call to the waiter, scowling across the bar.
The man next to me starts laughing, a deep, sexy low rumble.
More blasts. Oh…God. Be quiet!
“Just how drunk are you?” he asks, and I look at him to see him watching me closely.
“Perfectly sober, thanks,” I say, snatching my eyes away from him quickly before I give them the opportunity to embarrass me again. “I ordered four.”
“And you’ve spilt two,” he points out. I look down and see the two empties…and it comes back to me. How long was I daydreaming? Or admiring? Or drooling?
“Oh.”
“Not drunk?”
I keep my eyes on the bar. They can’t be trusted. “Like I said, perfectly sober.” I gather up the remaining glasses and make to turn, being sure to maintain my stability. Not that I’m stubborn or anything. I’m not drunk.
“Care to prove it?” he asks, pulling me to a stop. A challenge?
I risk a peek at him out of the corner of my eye and find the most gorgeous smile on his already gorgeous face. Where the hell did he come from?
Prove it? “How?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.
“Take the shots to your friends.” He nods past me, and I look over to see my friends all now gathered around the tall table, Micky’s arms flying in the air dramatically, the girls laughing. I manage to note that Dishy Man here knows who I’m with. How long has he been here? There’s no way he would have slipped under any of the girls’ Hot-Man Radar. “Then come back to see me, if you want,” he adds quietly.
If I want? Do I want? I have another quick peek up at him. He’s still smiling. It’s a dangerous smile. Very dangerous. He’s too handsome to be harmless.
I slink off, shamelessly adopting a mild sway of my arse as I go, resisting the urge to see if he’s watching me. He is watching me. I just know it, and it’s got me all hot and bothered.
Lizzy is on me like a pouncing tiger when I arrive back at the table. “Who in God’s name is that?” she asks, eyes wide with excitement as she takes a shot.
“I don’t know,” I reply, downing the last shot myself instead of giving it up to any one of my friends, all the while feeling the magnetic pull of the man behind me, my body tightening with the strain it’s taking not to turn and seek him out again.
“Annie, I know you’re pretty much immune to men, but this is taking the piss. He’s watching you.”
Immune? I’m not sure I’d say immune. I’ve just never felt anything close to special. So why the hell am I tingling all over and trembling like a fool? I don’t feel very immune now. “He can watch.”
She gapes at me. “Well, if you won’t talk to him, then I will, since I’m single now.” Pushing past me, she slaps a smile on her face and heads toward the bar, and my man.
I have no idea what comes over me, but the next moment my hand has shot out and I’ve seized Lizzy’s wrist, yanking her to a stop. I squeeze my eyes shut, annoyed with myself. “Just hold up one minute.” I breathe in deeply and turn to her. “A rebound fuck with a stranger isn’t the way forward.”
She’s holding back a grin that will probably split her face if it escapes. She has me. For the first time—probably ever—a man has caught my attention. I shouldn’t read too much into it. I expect this particular man has caught every woman’s attention, the unholy, good-looking son of a bitch.
Leaning into me, Lizzy pushes her mouth to my ear, just as my eyes fall onto him again. He’s still watching me. Intently, almost challengingly. “He looks like a hard fucker,” Lizzy whispers, giggling as she breaks away, giving me a coy look. “Do womankind a favor and get laid.” She nods past me. “By him.”
“I’m just going to talk to him,” I protest, leaving my friend behind and giving in to the pull luring me back to him. I drink in air and start a steady pace toward him, dropping my bottom lip from between my teeth when I realize I’m biting it.
He maintains a serious face, watching me as he leans on the bar casually. “I believe I saw a slight stagger,” he says, raising his eyebrows.
He’s just too fucking handsome for his own good. And, undoubtedly, my good, too. “Sober,” I mouth, leaning next to him at the bar.