1
This was the absolute worst choice in underwear. I don’t know who invented the G-string, but he should be shot. And yes, I’m quite certain it was a guy.
I wiggle my butt on the bar stool, trying to reposition or somehow dislodge said undergarment, but with no luck. A quick glance around the bar and I can see it’s quiet, so I twist in my seat, reaching back behind me. I tug at my dress, trying to get a hold of the flimsy lingerie through the fabric. Why is this so—
“You okay there?”
Shit.
I freeze, one hand grasping my underwear through my dress, the other on the bar giving me the leverage I need to reach back.
There’s a chuckle from behind me, and I turn slowly to see a bartender leaning forward on his hands against the bar, the corners of his eyes creased in amusement.
Fuck it. I’m already halfway there now.
With one final yank I reposition my lingerie and straighten up, giving the bartender an embarrassed smile. “Sorry. Underwear mishap.”
“Ah.” He grimaces on my behalf. “Drink?”
My gaze flicks to the door and back. I’m waiting for a date—someone I matched with on Tinder—and a drink would definitely take the edge off. But this isn’t my usual bartender.
I’ve chosen this particular East Village bar, Bounce, because my brother Cory owns it. I always meet my dates here to keep things low-key. Exposed brick walls, red vinyl booths on one side, long bar stretching the other side, small dance floor near the back, low lighting. It’s a bit of a dive, but it’s fun and cozy, and most importantly it’s familiar ground. It’s always easier to meet someone new in a place where I already feel comfortable. If the wheels fall off and the guy turns out to be a psycho, I’ve got Cory—or the bouncer, Jimmy—to help me out.
And, you know, Cory gives me free drinks. What else are big brothers for?
“Where’s Cory?” I ask, scanning the bar.
The bartender rolls his eyes, leaning back and folding his arms. “Of course, you’re here for Cory. That’s who the underwear is for.”
I stifle a snort.No, I’m not wearing a thong for my brother.But I know he picks up his fair share of girls here, so I’m not surprised by this guy’s response. “Uh, no. Who are you?”
He gives me a wide grin. “Myles.”
“You’re new.”
“Yep.” He raises a tattooed arm to drag a hand through his hair. “Started last week. So, what are you drinking?”
“Just a vodka soda, thanks.”
He nods, reaching for a bottle of Absolut. Then he does that cheesy bartender thing that they all do when they think they’re hot shit: he tosses the bottle up in the air so it spins, then catches it with a flourish.
I run my eyes over him as he pours my drink. He’s about five-foot-eleven, early-thirties, lean and slightly muscular without being ripped. His eyes are gunmetal-blue, his nose strong with a little upturn at the end. It makes his face look almost boyish, despite the scruff along his jaw. He has a sleeve of tattoos covering his right arm; mountain ranges and trees on his bicep, which fade down his forearm into a map, with a compass that wraps around his wrist. My gaze lingers on it before moving to his hair—chestnut brown and shaved close on the sides, but longer in a mess of curls on top. Just the right length for tugging on, I register absently.
He slides my drink across the bar. “So you’re not here for Cory. I’m guessing… date?”
I take a sip of vodka. “Yeah.”
His eyes move to my bare shoulder and trail over my own tattoo—a bunch of wildflowers done in black outline—then back to my face. “Well, he’s lucky.”
“I’m sorry—” I set my glass down in disbelief. “Are you actually hitting on me, right before a date?”
“Maybe.” He shrugs, flashing me a grin that’s all teeth.
I stare at him, trying to suppress my smile. As much as I want to be irritated by his confidence it’s quite disarming, and I just shake my head with a little laugh.
“First date?”
I nod, chewing on my straw as unease ripples through me. This is always the worst part, right before you meet. They seem okay on an app with a handful of photos and a funny bio—then you meet them in person and realize they’ve got a voice like Mickey Mouse or a penchant for threesomes and you wish you’d never left the house.
