I move my gaze up to his olive-toned complexion. Well, from what I can tell anyway. Half of it is covered with a full beard connected to a mustache that’s just as thick.His eyes– those eyes are like the ocean. The way they contrast with his dark beard is–what do the kids these days say? Chef’s kiss.
Oh. God. And he smells good too.The scent of sweet bourbon mixed with his cologne radiates off him.Fuck, I am in trouble. Damn, I’m staring again.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks. The use of the nickname again makes my heart stutter. His deep and slightly accented voice sounds very familiar, with a touch of humor mixed in the way he asks.
“Yeah, I’m just a bit out of it. It was a busy night.” My voice is a little breathier than usual as my eyes scan over him.
“Yeah, where’d they all go?” He smirks as his hands gesture to the empty seats nearby.Damn it. I lean against the bar, in fear that I would fall from my knees, going weak. I wonder if he can tell my legs are turning into jelly.
“They just left.”I can smirk, too.
“Isthat right?” His mischievous grin turns into a full-fledged smile across his handsome face.Well, fuck. Now, the rest of me feels like jelly as well.
“Yep.” I nod, desperately trying to appear casual. “Is there anything I can get you?”
“Yeah,” he pauses to think, as if to make me believe he doesn’t already know what he wants. “How about bourbon?”
“Coming right up.”Shit, where is our bourbon? Oh, good. There you are, you bastard.Still leaning against the bar, I begin pouring the brown liquid into the short, clear glass, the splashing sound filling the tense silence between us. Satisfied with my work, I slide the glass closer to him.
“Thanks,” he says while matching my gaze.Oh, shit. Don’t do that.“So…”Dear God, please don’t expect me to have a conversation with this man. I can’t think straight right now.“What time does this place close? I mean, I should probably know since we’re doing business together.”
“Three A.M. and you’re not technically doing business with me. That would be Janice. I just work here.”
“Well, Sweetheart,”there’s that word again.“You’re going to be pouring the product. So, I’d say wearein business together.” He brings the glass up to his lips, just peeking out from his facial hair.
“I suppose so.” I lean in closer.Holy shit! Am I flirting? No, that’s just my body trying to balance.
“What do you do when you get off work? If you don’t mind me asking.” His blue eyes shoot through me as he peers over his glass.Why can’t I think? What do I do when I get home? Do I even have hobbies? Damn, what is considered a hobby these days? Think, Thalia, think.
“Hey, Thalia!”Saved by Jace. He yells from his side of the bar. He would say it was his normal voice. Anyone else would say yelling. “You got any plansotherthan your usual nighttime routine?”What the hell? You just happened to overhear our conversation, and now you want to add to my embarrassment of my bad attempt at talking to this overly attractive man?
“Routine? What is this routine of yours?” The mystery supplier’s eyes widen at the question.Oh, fuck. Jace, please don’t.
“Oh, yeah. Thalia has this set schedule when she gets home.” Jace announces with his hands on his hips.Well, this is fucking mortifying.
“Really? I’m intrigued. What's your name again?” He asks, setting down his glass.
“Jace, my name is Jace. And honey, I didn’t mention my name yet. But I’m sure you’d remember if we met.”
“Something tells me I’d remember meeting you, too.”There’s that smirk again. Oh, God. I think I’m going to throw up.
“Well, anyway. Every night, Thalia gets off work, she stops at her favorite Thai place then goes home and listens to her favorite true crime podcast.”
“Every night? You eat noodles every night?” His voice pitches up in question. His eyes dart toward me, and my stomach turns with butterflies.That’s never a good sign.
“No, not every night. Just when our tips allow me to.” I answer him as if I just broke my mother’s favorite vase.
“Oh, that’s damn near every night.” Jace cuts in.
“Does this podcast have a new episode every night?” Our new supplier asks, smiles and takes another drink of his bourbon.
“Not since last night.” Oh God, my voice is cracking.
“You listen to the same ones over again…?” He lets out a small laugh. His eyebrows raise in what seems like curiosity.Why do I feel judged? I don’t even know this man.
“Sometimes…” I reluctantly reply.
“It must be onehellof a podcast.” He crosses his arms across his chest and leans back in his chair. “What’s it called?”
