Check Yes, No, or Maybe
Elliot beamed victoriously. “Get that sexy little ass up, go find yourself a guy, and ask him to buy you a drink.” He scooted close, throwing an arm over my shoulders. “And that delectable thing,” I followed the manicured, freshly painted fingernail to a man at the opposite end of the bar, “has had his eyes on you all night.”
I didn’t remember the exact details, but I did remember the guy’s good looks. Maybe some hipster glasses and sideswept dirty-blonde hair? Who cared? My liquid courage had my ass getting up and strutting to Mr. Sexy Thing. His eyes followed each move I made, inflating my ego the closer I got.
Heat hit my cheeks, cock standing at attention when he took a drink, staring over his glasses’ frame. Those eyes were wild. Hungry. And I was the lucky fucker getting devoured by them.
Damn, he really is watching. I nearly stopped and returned to my seat. Through the haze, I remembered thinking I’d never been looked at like that. Should I really be doing this? I glanced at Declan who’d found me and glared like he was daring me to keep going. Confidence renewed, I picked up the pace.
“Hey there,” I said, leaning a hip against the bar.
Mr. Mystery raised his eyes to meet mine. “And hello to you, too.” Even through the fogginess, I recalled the timbre of his voice.
Holy shit, and I thought Declan had a hot tone. Compared to this guy, Declan … well, didn’t compare. This guy blew my ex’s sophistication and cockiness away with only one sentence!
Before I lost my nerve, I asked, “So, you come here often?” Did I really just say that! “I mean…” Oh, come on, he only said hello! Get a fucking grip!
“I know what you meant,” he said with a laugh. “No, I’m just visiting.” With the grace of a wildcat, he turned his attention back to his drink, tongue teasing the liquid on his lower lip. “Why? Do you come here often?”
“What? No. I mean…” My heart pounded in my ears. I wasn’t sure if it was his mocking or the sexy way he looked me over, but the confidence I’d built up slowly deteriorated. I was in “quit with the small talk and fuck me” mode in two seconds. How had he turned everything around with only a few words? “If you aren’t from here … where … are you, um…”
God, what is wrong with me?
“Miami,” he replied. “Why don’t you join me? Perhaps allow me to buy you a drink to calm your nerves?”
I did what Elliot dared me to, but I wasn’t ready to let Mr. Hipster Frames charm me out of my jeans.
Time to take back over. I sat and leaned on my forearms, gingerly letting my knee brush his in an “I’m open for business” manner. “Sure, but only if you play a game with me. Win and you can buy me a drink.”
“And if I lose?” he replied, clearly enjoying the challenge.
I shrugged a shoulder. “Then I walk.”
“Hmm.” A devious smile curved his lips. “Sounds good.” The glasses came off. I watched him close them, set them down, and turn to face me. Thick lashes and dark green bedroom eyes pierced through the Scotch-induced amnesia. “But, how about we up the ante? How about if I win, I buy you a drink and get you to come home with me?”
A gasp escaped me, piercing my lust-addled brain. It was like he read my mind—or maybe my actions, I wasn’t sure at that point—though I was too nervous to ask him for the last part. “O-okay. If you lose?”
The devious smirk widened. “I let you use me to make whoever is sitting at that table,” he gestured his head and eyes to my ex, “incredibly jealous, and you can walk. Deal?”
Is he for real? He knows what I am up to and doesn’t care? I can’t put this guy in any category on my checklist so far.
Every alarm, red flag, and warning sign went off in my brain. The last thing I remembered was telling him he had a deal.