As soon as the glass hits the bar, I pick it up and start gulping, finishing it in one toss. I dab my mouth with a napkin. “Perfect. I don’t like the taste of alcohol when I drink, but I love buzzing just enough to make it adventurous.”
The man grumbles something.
“Sorry, what was that?”
“A glass of water,” the man says, and just when I think the water is for him, the bartender serves it to me.
“Thank you. I would have ordered one but didn’t want to seem too needy.” I drink the whole glass and reach for the napkin I used already, but the stranger produces a handkerchief.
“Thank you, sir.” I use the handkerchief and notice the letter A embroidered into the corner. “A for Antonio?”
He shakes his head.
“A for Angelo.”
A shake of his head again. “You won’t guess.”
“Alessandro?”
“Close.”
I snap my fingers. “Damn. Three strikes and I’m out.” I expect him to tell me his name, but he keeps his gaze on his whiskey. “Are you okay?” I ask. He’s not drinking, just staring at his glass. I’d like to chat with him, maybe flirt a little, but I don’t want to bother him if he’s going through something and needs solitude and a whiskey neat.
The man chuckles. “I’m fine.”
“My ex would come to the bar I used to work at. He would order a whiskey and coke and watch me work all night. He couldn’t walk away from me or the liquor, you know.” I chuckle nervously because this is how I deal with my trauma. Laughter and jokes. “But I walked away from him.” I clear my throat. “And here I am, single again.”
Facepalm. Usually, I’m a better flirt and much more subtle, but drawing this man into a conversation feels like pulling teeth, so I figured I’d hit him over the head with my availability in case he’s interested.
Look, it’s not every day I meet a wealthy, beautiful, late-thirties man who wears diamond-studded watches and smells like he walked through a cloud of bergamot over lavender, crushed under heavy charcoal.
A smile tugs on his lips. “You smell nice.”
“You think so?” I say excitedly, because I was just thinking about the way he smells too! “It’s this lotion. Hold on.” I dig into my sack. It takes me a moment to sort through all my stuff, but I find the gardenia lotion I bought from a local shop. “Got this when I first arrived and then bought three more for the road.” I pop open the lotion and offer it to him.
He indulges me and sniffs.
I continue. “It’s from a place called Kiki’s. A green building with two neon green umbrellas in the front.” I squeeze more lotion into my palm and rub it up to my elbows. “Want some?” I turn over the bottle, ready to dump the last few drops of it into his hand if he wants some, but he shakes his head at the same time that he catches a drop of lotion that drips out before I put the bottle back in my purse.
He gently rubs the lotion into his palm. His fingers are long, with manicured fingernails, and as I lean in, I catch a whiff of his cologne, which makes my breasts tingle.
I lean in closer and inhale. “You smell nice too.”
The man throws back his whiskey and turns toward me, his body language telling me he’s about to pounce. He grabs my chair and pulls it toward him.
I yelp at the sudden movement. Holy crap. It’s getting hot in here.
The man leans forward, and in order to maintain distance, I should lean back. But I don’t, because his blue eyes lift at the corners when he smiles.
“That’s Antonio,” he says, a jerk of head toward the bartender, who briefly waves.
“Nice to meet you, Antonio.”
The patron leans in even closer, lowering his head so that his nose grazes my shoulder. I can hear him scenting me the way a wolf might. “Antonio was just leaving.”
The bartender drops the towel and leaves the unpolished glassware, along with us, at the bar.
Suddenly nervous, I bite my lip.
