“Want to talk about it?” I offer, waving the bartender over and order two more mind-numbing cocktails. “Might as well go down together.”
The corners of her eyes crinkle as a genuine smile, a rare sight, brightens her lovely face. She has a gorgeous smile.
My heart hammers against my ribs, a strange, unfamiliar ache blossoming in my chest. “You should smile more often. It looks good on you.”
It falls almost instantly, replaced by a frown that shouldn’t be sexy, but is.
“Ugg. Seriously? Is that the best you’ve got?” Ingrid’s shoulders stiffen, her jaw tight with resolve, and she picks up her glass. “I’ve been hit on better while walking through a construction site.”
I rotate in my chair to face her. With my elbow on the bar, I stare intently for a full minute. It’s meant to break her, to get her to flinch. It does nothing. She meets my gaze with the same intensity, not once blinking. I rub my scruffy jaw and think hard about what the hell would make a woman as stubborn as her cry.
Not ready to get to the heart of that yet, I go with what I know. “You don’t like me.”
Her face contorts into a cute, unreadable expression. She toys with her top lip, tugging it between her fingers.
My god, if she doesn’t stop, I’m not sure what I’ll do next. I want to make her stop so I can play with her lovely lip, run my thumb over it and dare her to show me what she’s made of.
Hell, if I don’t stop watching her, I’ll get a chubby.
Who am I kidding? I’ve got one already.
Bored, Ingrid says, “I don’t know you,” her voice a tone I’m certain she uses when she wishes to be left alone.
“And yet you’ve already decided you don’t like me.” I won’t make this easy for her.
“Fine. I don’t like you.” She exhales, exasperated, rearranging her long curls to her other shoulder so she can see me a little clearer. “You’re an arrogant arse who thinks he’s God’s gift to women. I try to stay away from men like you.”
“Is that what I am? How are you so sure about that, cupcake?” I almost laugh when she rolls her eyes.
“I just am. Let me guess. Tonight, you came here to do what? Pick up some bimbo who thinks you hung the moon when you flash those piercing silver eyes at her? You’re hoping to convince her to let you escort her back to her hotel room so the two of you can have a romp. Come morning, you’ll disappear before she wakes and never speak to her again. Move on to the next one. Am I right?”
“I won’t lie. That had been the plan when I chose this place.” I have no shame in admitting I’ve done that a few times. I’m a single male, and I like women.
“Why do you do that? Use them and then toss them aside?” Her eyes meet mine, and the sadness in them hits me hard.
“Who hurt you?” The words slip out before I can stop myself.
With a sigh, her blue eyes flick upward as she twists her body away from mine. “Because that’s the only reason I’d ask aquestion like that, right? I’m obviously a woman scorned and now hate all men likehim.”
I don’t answer her. Wait it out to see if maybe the silence will get her talking.
When she doesn’t and the silence grows uncomfortable, I find it’s me who unloads his turmoil, revealing more than I ever planned.
“I do it because I’ve got nothing better to bring to the table. My family’s a nightmare. They’d scare off any woman I dated seriously.” My finger taps the bar’s cool, polished surface. “And for the record, I don’t love ‘em and leave ‘em. I’m not saying I’ve never had a one-night stand, but it’s not a regular thing for me. Relationships are an enigma. I struggle to understand the allure. In my twenty-six years, I’ve come to realize that everyone always has a hidden agenda. They all want something.”
Her piercing eyes, sharp as daggers, nearly knock me out of my seat. “Do you believe your friend has one?”
My lips curl up, and with a playful wag of my finger, I tease her. “Yes. He plans on locking her down and never letting her go. He’s a hopeless romantic and a big believer in the power of love.”
A breathtaking smile spreads across her face, stealing my breath. “I hope you’re right about that. Freddy deserves a man like Stan.”
Freddy being Winnie, another nickname they came up with years ago. Hers fits better since her full name is Winifred. I’m still at a loss about Dinger. One day I’ll get her to tell me.
“And what kind of man do you deserve, Ingrid?” I find myself asking.
“Me?” She points a shaky finger at herself and lets out a derisive snort. “Yeah. No, thank you. I’m better off without a man. Men are arseholes. I’ll pass.”
“That’s a shame.” My finger brushes her jaw, sending a shiver through her. “It seems like a waste to let someone as special as you give up so easily. Maybe you just haven’t met the right man yet.”
