“How’d you meet?”
Jesus. I’m really getting the third degree from this guy.
I huff an uncomfortable laugh. “Don’t you have other people to serve?” I say, glancing along the bar. But there are only a few others, all with drinks in their hands. When I look back at Myles he gives me a smug grin and I sigh. “We haven’t met yet. Not in person.” I pick up my drink and take a long sip. “I found him through a dating app.”
“Right. Real long-term potential there, then.”
I lift a shoulder. “You never know.” But I kind of do know, really. Because I’ve been on a million of these things and I’ve yet to meet anyone halfway decent.
“Well,” Myles says, taking a dishcloth and wiping down the bar, “I’ll be here, when the date’s over.” He gives me another cocky grin and I arch an eyebrow. He’s certainly sure of himself, this one.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I respond wryly.
He pauses, and the smile fades from his face as he studies me. “Seriously, though, if the guy’s a creep and you need rescuing, give me a wave.”
“Uh… thanks.” I’m taken aback by his sudden sincerity, then his lips tip back into a cheeky smile and I chuckle.
Pulling my compact from my purse, I do a final check of my reflection. My chin-length, ash-blond hair is straightened. Dark, winged liner accentuates my brown eyes, and my peaches and cream complexion is painstakingly perfected by foundation, contouring, blush, highlighter, and every other product under the sun—just so I look like I don’t have makeup on at all.
Snapping the compact shut, I glance up to find Myles looking at me. His gaze flits to something over my shoulder.
“Hey. I’m Simon.”
I turn to see a tall, lean guy with light brown hair leering at me, and my heart sinks. It’s not that I have an issue with brown hair or lean builds—they really do it for me, actually—it’s the leering. Gross.
No, I tell myself, straightening up in my seat. I’m too quick to jump to conclusions about these guys before I even say two words to them. You can’t tell what a person is like by their first impression. Maybe he’s got some kind of eye disorder or facial tic.
I force a smile and extend my hand. “I’m Cat.”
He takes my hand, his gaze stuck fast to my breasts. That is some serious eye problem he’s got there.
Myles is hovering behind the bar and I glance at him with uncertainty. He’s regarding Simon through narrowed eyes, his arms crossed over his chest. Then his gaze swings to me and he raises his eyebrows.
I turn back to Simon, trying to push away the feeling of disappointment weaving through me.
“Let’s get a booth,” he says, finally looking at my face.
I hesitate, glancing back at Myles, wondering again where Cory is. I’m not sure I want to sit in a dark booth with this guy, and while Myles did offer to help me out, I don’t actually know him. “Why don’t we have a drink here first?” I gesture to the bar and Simon shrugs, sliding onto a barstool beside me.
“Jagerbomb,” he says to Myles.
I can’t stop the snort that comes from my nose. I mean, come on. Everyone knows only a douchebag orders a Jagerbomb. At seven o’clock. On a Tuesday.
But the snort comes out louder than I’d intended, and when Simon gives me a strange look I quickly cough, patting my chest for effect.
Myles bites back a smirk as he reaches for a glass, cracking open a can of Red Bull and upending it into a glass, then placing a shot of Jagermeister on the bar. We both watch in mild disgust as Simon drops the shot into the glass and throws it back, then wipes his mouth.
“So, it’s really nice to meet you,” he says, giving me a genuine smile. This time he’s focused on my face, and I feel a little wave of relief. Maybe I did judge him too soon.
Myles is still right there, third-wheeling our date, so I shoot him a look. He frowns, throwing the dishcloth over his shoulder as he saunters off to serve another girl who’s taken a seat along the bar. I hear him say something to her and while I don’t catch the words, I catch the tone. It was the same one he was just using with me, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I turn back to Simon.
“It’s nice to meet you, too.” I shift on the stool. “It’s always a bit awkward meeting someone new like this.”
“I know, right?”
We sit in silence for a moment, and Simon picks up one of the cardboard coasters off the bar, fiddling with it. It occurs to me for the first time that he might be nervous.
“So, um, how was your day?” He asks, his gaze meeting mine again. “You work in a shop, right?”
