“And you?” Jackson asks. “Come here often?”
“Nope. First time.”
“I mean, th-there’s fancier places downtown, of course,” Jackson stammers, wanting to keep the conversation going, “and then there’s the strip clubs, but I don’t have much of an appetite for titty bars—” Jackson pauses. He can’t believe he just blurted that out.
But the man holds Jackson’s gaze with his toffee-brown eyes, cocks his head to the side. “Yeah. Neither do I.”
Jackson doesn’t know if he’s saying this because he’s clearly married…or if it’s some kind of code. The thought is almost too delicious to think.
“Ethan. Ethan Swift.” He offers his hand to Jackson.
Damn it.
In his tipsy state, it hadn’t dawned on Jackson that this must be exactly who this man is.
The enemy.
He takes Ethan’s hand, shakes it. “Jackson Ford. Pleasure to meet you.” He tries to steer his tone to cold, professional.
“Pleasure’s all mine.” Ethan slings back the rest of his drink, lifts his glass at Ginny.
She pours him another.
“I’ll have one, too,” Jackson tells her. He needs something stronger than beer in this moment. But what he really needs is to get the hell out of here. He can’t, though. He’s mesmerized by Ethan.
A grin forms across Ginny’s lips, but she bites it back, fixes Jackson’s drink.
The whiskey scorches the back of Jackson’s throat, making him shake his head.
Ethan chuckles. “Not used to the strong stuff?”
“If I’m being honest, no. I usually cut it with Coke.”
“Will you get my new friend here a Jack and Coke?” Ethan asks Ginny.
“Here, allow me.” He grabs Jackson’s drink, tilts his head back, empties the rest down his throat. Smiles that crooked smile at Jackson.
Jackson feels overheated, as if his clothes are suddenly too tight.
When Ginny passes him his drink, he takes a long pull, tries to cool himself off.
What the hell am I doing?Jackson thinks. Followed byFuck it.
“That better?” Ethan asks, his voice cutting over the clacking of pool balls and bar noise, smooth as maple syrup.
“Much!” Jackson manages to reply.
Ethan drums his hands along the bar. Long, elegant fingers.The kind Jackson can imagine nibbling on. But that wedding band.
Like Jackson, Ethan seems fidgety. A live wire. Jackson wishes he could say something smart, clever, but his tongue feels like a brick in his mouth.
Perhaps because of the awkward silence, Ethan fishes something out of his leather satchel.
Jackson nearly gasps when he sees what it is.
A palm-sized Bible.
What the…?
