light.”
She guided him down a dark side street, and they parked next to the curb outside Jake’s Bar. Trey insisted he get her door, so she waited until he helped her out of his low-riding car.
Pleasure swirled in her belly. The unexpected gesture made her feel special, and she hadn’t experienced that with a man in a long time.
Trey stood with his hands in his pockets, peering at the bar’s disheveled roof and slightly dilapidated entrance. “This is your idea of a big night out?”
“Hey, don’t knock it. This is one of my favorite dive bars.”
“I’d hate to see the others,” he muttered. He scanned her up and down, a territorial gleam settling in his eyes. “You’re dressed for deluxe, not dive.”
“They cater to all kinds. Even uptight guys in suits,” she teased. He was still dressed to the nines in his work attire.
“I’ll leave my jacket in the car.” He shrugged out of his suit coat, removed his tie, and tossed both into the small backseat. Then he released the top two buttons of his shirt, revealing the hollow in his tanned throat surrounded by cords of muscle.
She licked her lips, unable to look away from the intimate glimpse of skin. She wondered if the rest of him was equally tanned and toned. He leaned into the car, offering a stellar view of his backside, and pressed a button on the dashboard. While the convertible top glided up to seal with the windows, he rolled his white shirtsleeves back on his forearms. His sexy look could’ve been printed in GQ magazine, one of those spreads where a gorgeous man in a thousand dollar suit was attempting to look casual and effortless. Only, Trey succeeded.
When the convertible roof slid into place, he locked his car and spread his arms. “This is as dressed-down as I can get on short notice.”
She entertained several descriptions—hot, delicious, and drool-worthy—but kept those to herself. “You look fine.”
He held the door open for her and they walked inside.
The muted lights, tobacco-stained ceiling, tacky wood paneling, familiar faces, and the jukebox waiting in the corner, filled her with fondness. A stab of nostalgia reminded her how much she loved coming here most Fridays after work to relax and unwind. No computers or keyboards, no deadlines, no one to impress or answer to. Just a fun group of low-key regulars who worked hard and played harder. She’d miss this place when she took the job offer and moved to Phoenix. Along with so many other things that made Denver home.
She scanned the bartenders, hoping to recognize one. When she recognized both, she smiled and waved.
Mo, wearing his signature flannel shirt with hacked-off sleeves, paused while wiping a glass. He elbowed Mitch, who dressed like he’d time-warped out of the 1980s hair band era. “Hey, she’s here.”
Mitch turned away from a cooler where he was stocking bottles. When his eyes met hers, she broke into a smile. “Hey, Snow. You abandoned us for three weeks in a row.”
“Snow?” Trey repeated with a blank look.
“They call me Snow White. The whole pale skin, dark hair thing, I guess.”
“I like it,” he said in a low voice that sent a quiver down her spine. “Where are your seven dwarves?”
“Pick one,” she said, gesturing to the row of regulars lining the bar. She tapped them each good-naturedly on the shoulder as she passed. “Happy. Sleepy. Slumpy. Wheezy. Drunky. They’re all here.”
The older men waved in succession and then proceeded to bicker over which name belonged to whom.
A strained look crossed Trey’s face. “Another legion of fans I have to contend with. Great.”
“What do you mean?”
He sent her a wry smile as they approached an open space at the bar. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way your minions hang on your every golden word.”
A laugh caught in her throat at his misguided but entertaining observation. “Cheer up.” She patted his shoulder. “You can be my Prince Charming for the
She guided him down a dark side street, and they parked next to the curb outside Jake’s Bar. Trey insisted he get her door, so she waited until he helped her out of his low-riding car.
Pleasure swirled in her belly. The unexpected gesture made her feel special, and she hadn’t experienced that with a man in a long time.
Trey stood with his hands in his pockets, peering at the bar’s disheveled roof and slightly dilapidated entrance. “This is your idea of a big night out?”
“Hey, don’t knock it. This is one of my favorite dive bars.”
“I’d hate to see the others,” he muttered. He scanned her up and down, a territorial gleam settling in his eyes. “You’re dressed for deluxe, not dive.”
“They cater to all kinds. Even uptight guys in suits,” she teased. He was still dressed to the nines in his work attire.
“I’ll leave my jacket in the car.” He shrugged out of his suit coat, removed his tie, and tossed both into the small backseat. Then he released the top two buttons of his shirt, revealing the hollow in his tanned throat surrounded by cords of muscle.
She licked her lips, unable to look away from the intimate glimpse of skin. She wondered if the rest of him was equally tanned and toned. He leaned into the car, offering a stellar view of his backside, and pressed a button on the dashboard. While the convertible top glided up to seal with the windows, he rolled his white shirtsleeves back on his forearms. His sexy look could’ve been printed in GQ magazine, one of those spreads where a gorgeous man in a thousand dollar suit was attempting to look casual and effortless. Only, Trey succeeded.
When the convertible roof slid into place, he locked his car and spread his arms. “This is as dressed-down as I can get on short notice.”
She entertained several descriptions—hot, delicious, and drool-worthy—but kept those to herself. “You look fine.”
He held the door open for her and they walked inside.
The muted lights, tobacco-stained ceiling, tacky wood paneling, familiar faces, and the jukebox waiting in the corner, filled her with fondness. A stab of nostalgia reminded her how much she loved coming here most Fridays after work to relax and unwind. No computers or keyboards, no deadlines, no one to impress or answer to. Just a fun group of low-key regulars who worked hard and played harder. She’d miss this place when she took the job offer and moved to Phoenix. Along with so many other things that made Denver home.
She scanned the bartenders, hoping to recognize one. When she recognized both, she smiled and waved.
Mo, wearing his signature flannel shirt with hacked-off sleeves, paused while wiping a glass. He elbowed Mitch, who dressed like he’d time-warped out of the 1980s hair band era. “Hey, she’s here.”
Mitch turned away from a cooler where he was stocking bottles. When his eyes met hers, she broke into a smile. “Hey, Snow. You abandoned us for three weeks in a row.”
“Snow?” Trey repeated with a blank look.
“They call me Snow White. The whole pale skin, dark hair thing, I guess.”
“I like it,” he said in a low voice that sent a quiver down her spine. “Where are your seven dwarves?”
“Pick one,” she said, gesturing to the row of regulars lining the bar. She tapped them each good-naturedly on the shoulder as she passed. “Happy. Sleepy. Slumpy. Wheezy. Drunky. They’re all here.”
The older men waved in succession and then proceeded to bicker over which name belonged to whom.
A strained look crossed Trey’s face. “Another legion of fans I have to contend with. Great.”
“What do you mean?”
He sent her a wry smile as they approached an open space at the bar. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way your minions hang on your every golden word.”
A laugh caught in her throat at his misguided but entertaining observation. “Cheer up.” She patted his shoulder. “You can be my Prince Charming for the
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