“Sorry buddy, you got the wrong girl,” I snapped back over my shoulder.
“Huh…” There was something in his tone: curiosity or wonder or confusion. “Yeah, sorry, my bad. Forget it.”
Damn right I would.
I heard the scrape of glass on the bar and glanced back to see him slam back the drink. Then he let out a long sigh, as if it had soothed him. This guy liked the burn, it seemed. Though given his look, that made perfect sense.
I looked away again… before he incinerated me with those eyes.
“Sorry… my mistake. I’ll get out of your hair,” he said. The vinyl of the stool squeaked. His feet scraped on the ancient hardwood floor. Leather sighed and paper brushed over the bar.
I looked back.
A twenty.
“Keep the change.”
This guy knew how to tip.
Honestly, I was a bit surprised he’d given up so easily. Perhaps that hadn’t been adoration in his tone a moment ago? If he tipped twelve dollars on an eight-dollar shot, perhapseverythinghe did was over the top. He’d had me on the hook until he’d called me a nympho, and a part of me didn’t want him to leave, curious how hot he could make me.
“Wait,” I said, spinning around.
He’d already turned and taken a step but stopped, slanting a look back over his shoulder, raising one copper brow.
“What’s your game?” I asked, leaning on the bar.
The cocky smile returned, spreading into something sinful. His ember eyes twinkled with flames.
“Youintrigueme,” he said as he returned and also leaned on the bar.
Close.
Too close?
Nope.
His scent filled my next breath: campfire smoke and chocolate, like s’mores. If that was a cologne, I’d never smelled it before.
I drank it in, remembering backyard fires with theBloomfields. The memories were comforting, which was the last thing I expected from this man.
Also… Iintriguedhim? Not the word most men used.
“Oh?” I whispered across the not-quite inch of space between us. I wanted to tell him he intrigued me too, but I’d learned not to lead men on. Letthemdo all the work.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Ah— Rook.” Given the hesitation, it was probably fake. Whatever. “Yours?” He sat down again.
“Izzy.” My real name… sort of. Pretty sure it was short for something, I hoped it wasn’t Isabella, but I didn’t know for sure. Long story. “And why do I intrigue you?”
“You’re a mystery.”
I was, even to myself, but he didn’t know that. He’d known me for all of a few minutes, and I’d worked hard to create this easy-going persona.
“I’m an open book, ask me anything.” It was a risk. If he stayed nice and light, he had a chance, but he’d lose me if he went too deep.
“Favorite drink?”
