Elliott’s hypnotic blue eyes widen, and so does that lethal smile.
For the first time since we met, there’s no guilt curling in my stomach over smiling back.
“I might have to sleep over at your place this weekend,” Meg murmurs under her breath.
For some reason, thinking of her being one of Elliott’s many conquests makes my stomach churn. Or that could be the gin swimming around in there. I really should’ve eaten more for dinner than that handful of stale corn chips.
Elliott runs the card for the man who bought the shots, then comes over to where we’re waiting and braces his hands on the edge of the bar. His very large hands that were on the back of my thigh only a couple days ago.
Was he always this tall or has he had a growth spurt?
Remember this weekend when he carried me up that hill? Good times.
The memory makes me smile. Chivalry isn’t completely dead. “You’re a bartender.”
“What gave you that impression?” he drawls, snagging a towel from behind the bar and swiping it along the wood before throwing it over his shoulder like they do on TV.
Elliott could be on TV. He has the face for it.
And the ass.
“Funny.” Hot guys shouldn’t be funny. They don’t need another weapon in their very full arsenal.
Meg extends her hand over the bar. “Hi. I’m Meg. Loren’s very single best friend.”
His hand dwarfs Meg’s when he takes it. “Elliott.”
Is he lingering?
He’s totally lingering.
That’s not fair. I want to shake his hand so he can linger.
“What can I get you two?” he asks, finally letting go.
I squint up at the shelves of bottles.Soooomany bottles. “Drinks.”
“More specific?”
“Allthe drinks.”
Meg holds up two fingers. Or are there four? “Two gin and tonics, please.”
“Take a seat, and I’ll drop them down to you.”
Sounds like a plan to me. I slap my credit card onto the bar and say a little prayer that the payment I made yesterday cleared some necessary funds.
Meg snaps the card right back up and stuffs it into my purse. “As if I’d let you pay after what just happened to you.”
Elliott’s brows rise toward the bits of dark hair that have fallen over his forehead. My fingers itch to push them out of his eyes but then I remember the threat of hypnosis and figure it’s better if they’re covered.
Makes the hypnosis less effective.
Everyone knows that.
He’s clearly curious about Meg’s comment but there is no way I’m telling him my woeful dating story. Except his stunning eyes are locked on me and I have to say something to break this tension coiling in my chest so— “You need a haircut.”
I am on a freaking roll here.
