The bartender continues to wait patiently as I let my thoughts spiral. When I have enough of myself together, my usual order pours from my mouth—my night-before-a-game meal—no menu necessary. "Grilled sirloin, quinoa, steamed broccoli."
She smiles, then turns away, and I steal another glance in Mystery Girl's direction. Her back is now completely to me, her body shifted, so she's fully facing the guy at the end. He's invested in whatever she's saying, staring at her intently, and I use the opportunity to really take him in.
He's in a white button-up with the top two buttons undone and a grey vest that hangs open down the middle. His brown hair is pushed back in a shorter version of how I style mine for formal events, and his salt and pepper beard is trimmed tightly across his jaw.
He no doubt has money, maybe coming from a meeting or some sort of work conference. He's looking at my mystery girl like she's the rest of his night, and suddenly I'm hell bent on making sure he's wrong.
Her laugh once again slices through the room—and my chest—and it's all I can take. I push my stool back from the bar and move to the empty seat next to hers, doing everything in my power not to plop myself between the two of them.
If she notices someone now behind her, she doesn't move. The citrus that pours off of her perfect body lights me up, and at the same time, the bartender goes to place my water down where I once was before. Finding that stool now empty, she searches for me, then spots me in my new seat and swings in my direction.
"Your meal will be out shortly, sir," she says, placing the glass in front of me.
I thank her, speaking louder than I need to, but keeping my voice steady despite my racing heart. I make a mental note to tip her with all the cash I have when I realize my plan is working.
Our words grabbed my girl's attention.
My favorite mystery slowly spins toward me. I get a glimpse of her as she flashes me a casual grin before turning away once more. For that half of a second, my confidence wavers as my heart sinks into my ass. But then, she snaps back in my direction.
We lock eyes, mine never having left the back of her head, and hers grow wide as her lips part slightly.God, she's fucking beautiful.Even with the look of shock on her face, it's exactly as I remember it except now she has a small gold hoop hugging the side of her nose.Even better.
We each seem to freeze for a beat, staring at each other, but after another moment, her lips close as she swallows hard. It's the first time I let my eyes leave hers, but watching the way her throat moves up and down is worth it. It reminds me of how it felt when my hand was around it and she did the same thing before she called out my name.A perfect fucking memory.
My eyes drop down to her chest as it starts moving in quicker, deeper waves, and the effect her reaction has on me—watching as the puzzle pieces click into place—is undeniable. My jaw tightens, my heart hammers against my ribs at this point, and my palms are only cool because of the glass of ice water I'm strangling in my hands.
Thankfully, this is what I'm used to.
"Hey you," I say as her eyes finally begin to trail down my body. They dart right back to mine as the words fall casually from my lips despite the ache in my forearms. I'm now digging them into the bar top to keep myself from pulling her onto my lap, but she doesn't need to know that.
Her mouth opens briefly before she closes it again, looking back over her shoulder at Whiskey Guy. I forgot he was here. He should be pissed that I'm about to steal the attention of the girl he's been flirting with all night, but when our eyes meet, he throws me a genuine smile and rises from his seat.
To his credit, as much as I want to hate the guy, he walks over to where I'm sitting and offers me his hand. "Drew Anderson, in the flesh."
I stand, not missing the way Mystery Girl's head tilts upward as she follows my movement. I take his palm in mine. "How's it goin', man?"
"Going to the game tomorrow, actually. Can't wait to watch you kick off the season."Fuck. Mr. Toolbag's a nice guy after all.
"I appreciate that. We'll put on a show, don't you worry."
He drops our grasp and taps my shoulder with the back of his hand. "With you, I don't doubt it."
I force out a laugh. "It's what I do best."
He nods, and I drop my chin to find Mystery Girl still watching me intensely. I pause for one deep breath to take her in again before turning back to him. "Hey, listen. I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to steal your girl here."
He tilts his head toward hers, and I do the same. She paints a smile for him, and he mimics the gesture. "Oh, all good. We're not together. Do you two know each other?"
Our eyes meet, and hers reflect back the same way they did the first time we saw each other—pure, sincere, free of judgement.
"Old friend," I say, without pulling away, and I swear those same irises darken. I get lost in them, a silence falling between the three of us until Whiskey Guy clears his throat quietly.
Reluctantly, I rip my gaze from hers and offer him a tight-lipped nod, shoving both hands into my pockets. He looks at me knowingly and holds out his palm once more.
"No worries at all. You guys catch up." I shake his hand firmly before he extends it to her. She takes it all too quickly, and the whole interaction sparks a heat in my chest. I'm so consumed with my physical response to her that I almost miss his next few words.
Thankfully, I don't because they're everything I need.
"It was nice to meet you, Brooke."
