Usually reading put me in a good mood, as well as killed time for me, but I couldn’t concentrate. Bar-guy must be a fracking comedian, I thought, hoping my unspoken words could drown out the sound of their laughter. Just as I was about to either throw my book at them or storm off in a super dramatic huff, my attention was drawn up. Well, if it wasn’t the comedian.
“Well , hello there. What can I get you, pretty girl?”
“Vodka cranberry,” I answered, purposely cutting my words short. I wasn’t intere sted in him or his ‘pretty girl’ comment. I wanted my drink and I wanted it five, wait, now seven, minutes ago.
The man in front of me frowned before nodding and grasping for the house vodka. I clicked my teeth and shook my head ‘no,’ hoping he’d understand my meaning. Good for me, he did, and placed his hand on a bottle of Gray Goose, raising his eyes and waiting for my approval. When I inclined my head in agreement, he smiled brightly before pouring my drink.
Content my cocktail was being poured to my liking, I turned my eyes downward, once again trying to pick up where I left off. I didn’t glance up when my glass was set on a square white napkin, merely wrapped my hand around it and brought to my lips. I was probably coming off as a snooty bitch, which I was feeling, and I spared a moment to feel a little guilty.
“Is this seat taken?” a masculine voice intruded on my moment of guilt and my head snapped up, recognizing the sound. It was him, the laughing man.
So, it wasn’t just his laugh that was delectable. He was absolutely yummy, exactly what I would consider my ‘type.’ He was tallish, despite my sitting down, with dark hair and eyes the color of green water – not the algae-filled, ugly, smelly kind, but the perfect, clear, breathtaking green of the majestic oceans. His chin was strong, leading into even stronger cheekbones, both covered in a stubble that made me want to lick him. Yes, I said lick him, damn it.
“Hello?” he asked again, forcing me to realize I’d been staring. I couldn’t help it! He was perfectly muscular, while still being lean and not bulky. His arms were made for cuddling and he showed them off well – wearing a tight fitting V-neck tee paired with dark-wash blue jeans. To top off the hottie-patottie look he was going for? He was sporting black Chucks. Damn.
“Um…” I answered, definitely winning the most-articulate award in Atlanta. Shaking my head, I decided to give the art of speech another go. “No. No one is sitting there.”
In return, I was graced with a mega-watt smile that if I hadn’t been sitting would make me weak in the knees. Go figure, he just had to have perfect pearly white teeth and a freaking dimple. A DIMPLE for crying out loud. Nope, not affected. Not affected. Sigh.
“Thank you,” the man said as he gracefully perched himself onto the bar chair beside me. How anyone his size could be graceful was beyond me; he made me look like a bumbling fool when I’d gotten into mine and for a second I hoped he hadn’t seen me.
What do you care, Ryen? You’re leaving in , I thought, glancing at my watch, an hour and a half now. You’re going to the big city and you’ll never see this guy again. Go back to reading . I started to do just that, taking a final glance at the nice specimen of man beside me before turning back to the book in my hands. He cleared his throat, obviously trying to get my attention, but I continued reading about Simon Wallbanger and how I wished he was real and moved in next door to Elle’s place in New York. Alice Clayton was a new author to me, but Elle had demanded I read it and gifted it to me on New Year’s when I was spending the evening alone. I’d been depressed and I’d put the book on the back burner for a while … Now I was questioning my sanity on why I’d done that.
“What are you reading?” the man beside me asked, interrupting my concentration. I looked up, clearly annoyed, giving him
“Well , hello there. What can I get you, pretty girl?”
“Vodka cranberry,” I answered, purposely cutting my words short. I wasn’t intere sted in him or his ‘pretty girl’ comment. I wanted my drink and I wanted it five, wait, now seven, minutes ago.
The man in front of me frowned before nodding and grasping for the house vodka. I clicked my teeth and shook my head ‘no,’ hoping he’d understand my meaning. Good for me, he did, and placed his hand on a bottle of Gray Goose, raising his eyes and waiting for my approval. When I inclined my head in agreement, he smiled brightly before pouring my drink.
Content my cocktail was being poured to my liking, I turned my eyes downward, once again trying to pick up where I left off. I didn’t glance up when my glass was set on a square white napkin, merely wrapped my hand around it and brought to my lips. I was probably coming off as a snooty bitch, which I was feeling, and I spared a moment to feel a little guilty.
“Is this seat taken?” a masculine voice intruded on my moment of guilt and my head snapped up, recognizing the sound. It was him, the laughing man.
So, it wasn’t just his laugh that was delectable. He was absolutely yummy, exactly what I would consider my ‘type.’ He was tallish, despite my sitting down, with dark hair and eyes the color of green water – not the algae-filled, ugly, smelly kind, but the perfect, clear, breathtaking green of the majestic oceans. His chin was strong, leading into even stronger cheekbones, both covered in a stubble that made me want to lick him. Yes, I said lick him, damn it.
“Hello?” he asked again, forcing me to realize I’d been staring. I couldn’t help it! He was perfectly muscular, while still being lean and not bulky. His arms were made for cuddling and he showed them off well – wearing a tight fitting V-neck tee paired with dark-wash blue jeans. To top off the hottie-patottie look he was going for? He was sporting black Chucks. Damn.
“Um…” I answered, definitely winning the most-articulate award in Atlanta. Shaking my head, I decided to give the art of speech another go. “No. No one is sitting there.”
In return, I was graced with a mega-watt smile that if I hadn’t been sitting would make me weak in the knees. Go figure, he just had to have perfect pearly white teeth and a freaking dimple. A DIMPLE for crying out loud. Nope, not affected. Not affected. Sigh.
“Thank you,” the man said as he gracefully perched himself onto the bar chair beside me. How anyone his size could be graceful was beyond me; he made me look like a bumbling fool when I’d gotten into mine and for a second I hoped he hadn’t seen me.
What do you care, Ryen? You’re leaving in , I thought, glancing at my watch, an hour and a half now. You’re going to the big city and you’ll never see this guy again. Go back to reading . I started to do just that, taking a final glance at the nice specimen of man beside me before turning back to the book in my hands. He cleared his throat, obviously trying to get my attention, but I continued reading about Simon Wallbanger and how I wished he was real and moved in next door to Elle’s place in New York. Alice Clayton was a new author to me, but Elle had demanded I read it and gifted it to me on New Year’s when I was spending the evening alone. I’d been depressed and I’d put the book on the back burner for a while … Now I was questioning my sanity on why I’d done that.
“What are you reading?” the man beside me asked, interrupting my concentration. I looked up, clearly annoyed, giving him
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