Shirley and I walk over to where Britt and Whit are talking to Caroline and Tahoe. After a few tense minutes of Whit being an annoying, weaseling asshole, we all move our separate ways. I’m lingering in front of the jukebox, my quarters already inserted, when I sense someone waiting behind me. With my last song selected, I move out of the way, toss a friendly smile over my shoulder, and freeze.
“Hasn’t been updated in a decade or so, huh?” Leif asks.
I wasn’t prepared for conversation. Especially with this man. “Yeah. Probably a few, honestly,” I reply, sliding another step away. “It’s all yours.” I smile wide and check my watch. “There’s gotta be something you see that you like,” I add, as his eyes scan over the choices and then flit over to meet mine.
He grins. “I’m Leif,” he says, extending a hand. A massive, freaking, whopper of a hand. My own gets lost inside his firm shake.
“Malena,” I say, my voice wavering. I didn’t expect a proper introduction with handshakes and name exchanges. That can’t be his normal, can it? “Tahoe’s friend?” I add quietly, letting him know I’ve heard of him.
He nods, taking his hand from mine and clasping them behind his back. The picture of a perfect gentleman. His demeanor is unnerving. The swagger he entered the bar with is replaced by polished poise. “Indeed. Are you having a nice time tonight?” he asks. “It’s quite a place. Bobby’s Bar,” he says, raising both brows as he glances around the small dusty room, lit by old colored lights. The music is loud, but not so loud that I can’t hear him, though I did notice when I said my name, he leaned toward me to hear me better. “You’re the first person who has stopped to chat with me.”
Why? What game is he playing at? “I wonder why,” I say, flicking my hair over one shoulder. “Get turned down a lot tonight?” I know he arrived at the bar recently, but I don’t want him to know I noticed.
“Turned down?” The corners of his eyes slide down, and he frowns in confusion. “I didn’t know I was trying to turn anything up.” When he’s not wearing his smile, I can see how perfect his bone structure is. His cheekbones are high, and his jaw is square and masculine. Blue eyes peek out from underneath thick, blond lashes. The gentlemanly front slips as he grazes his top teeth over his bottom lip. Leif shows me how shrewd and calculating he is—how utterly mouthwatering he is when he tries.
I tear my gaze from his mouth and pretend to be wildly interested in the jukebox. “I don’t want to assume anything, but bless her heart, my friend Shirley knows everything abouteveryone, and I know about you guys—you SEALs. You don’t have to play at the nice guy thing to try to talk to me.”
“No? So, if instead of introducing myself I grabbed your perfect ass while you were selecting music, you would still be talking to me right now?” Leif bends an arm and posts himself up against the jukebox, his gaze lighting my body on fire.
“No,” I reply, letting my shoulders sag. “Probably not.” Shirley catches my eye and waves goodbye. I nod back, and she shoots an exaggerated wink.
Leif clears his throat to draw my eyes back to him. “What you’re saying then, because you’re definitely talking to me right now, is I win,” he says, lips pulling up in one corner. “Your ass is perfect, by the way. That was the truth.”
I try to catch my breath. Men don’t dazzle me, but Leif is paralyzing my thoughts. “Thanks. I think. You’re proclaiming your victory in one breath and complimenting my ass in the next. I can’t be sure if you want my number or if you’re bored,” I say, glancing over his shoulder to the hodgepodge of random bar patrons. “You’re probably used to places far more stimulating than Bobby’s Bar.” I meet his eyes and run my fingers through my hair. My song comes on, and I sway my head back and forth while I wait for him to respond.
He groans. “You’re right. This place is dead. Want to get out of here?”
While he’s distracted with thoughts of leaving the bar with me and what that entails, I study his body. His arms are strong, blue veins cutting ridges across the tops of his hands and forearms. They show a touch more than on a normal person because his skin isn’t as dark as a Bronze Bay native. It’s more of a creamy beige, the color after you’ve been outside, but not too long. I bet he burns easily.
“This is an awful song, by the way,” he returns after several long seconds.
“Why would I leave here with you? You don’t like my music choices, and I know nothing about you. What if you’re a Ted Bundy copycat?”
His smile is broad. “Are you calling me hot?”
I furrow my brow. “He was a serial killer, Leif. A psycho.”
“But he was hot. More attractive than most men. That’s why he was such a successful serial killer.”
Turning away from him, I start to walk away. “Okay. That’s about enough of that. It wasn’t nice meeting you, but welcome to Bronze Bay. Officially. If you’re thinking about using your looks to kill chicks, stay away from the one in the black fishnet. She’ll slit your throat before you get the tip in.”
He laughs loudly and grabs my arm. Annoyed, I turn back but don’t meet his eyes. “So, you are saying I’m good-looking enough to kill chicks.”
“Oh my gosh. You’re awful!” A smile slips, just because he looks so jovial and pleased with his sadistic jokes. At least, I hope they’re jokes.
“Malena,” he coos. “You know where I work. You know my friends. You know more about me than I know about you. I’m not killing anyone,” he says, looking to the side. “Not tonight at least. I don’t think.”
His face is thoughtful, and a chill creeps down my spine. He does kill.
I widen my eyes. “Comforting. Really. This conversation is really something. I’ll give you that much. Can’t say I’ve ever had a pickup line quite like this.”
“It’s not a pickup line,” Leif says. “You can see the dust motes in the air in here. I’m asking if you want to get out of here. We could walk down to the beach and talk about serial killers and hot men. I’m not coming on to you. My friends are busy,” he explains, eyeing his friends trying to pick up a few Bronze Bay ladies. “And I don’t want to go back home yet in case mysister hasn’t left.” Leif looks like he wants to explain but decides against it.
I look at my watch once more. I have an hour. I can give him an hour. “Only because the air quality really is something I worry about,” I reply, smirking. “And only if you dance with me to my song choice.”
He leans off the jukebox, arms held wide. “I am your man for that job, Malena of Bronze Bay.” His shoulders rise up and down as he bends his knees and juts his hips. One of his friends catcalls, witnessing his atrocious attempt at what I assume is a form of dancing.
Leif bites his bottom lip and doesn’t take his gaze off mine. His blue eyes are challenging, searching, blazing with anything except indifference. “You going to join me?” he says.
