“Care to elaborate?” I turned my body, inviting the conversation.
“Women who can handle the sweet burn of a bourbon such as this one,” he took a sip from his crystal glass, “are typically independent, smart, intriguing, and willing to take a risk.”
“You believe I’m all of those things based on a drink choice?” I challenged him.
“You’re drinking alone, are you not?”
Touché.
“I was.” I stared into his eyes, unable to look away. “For all of five minutes after my friends left.”
“Independent. Check. Do you like the taste?” His fingers roamed along the coarseness of his beard as he rattled off his next question.
“It’s top shelf, how could I not?” My eyes narrowed, catching on to the ways he’d studied me from the other side of the bar.
“Smart woman.” He winked.
“You haven’t told me your name yet.”
“And neither have you.”
I looked him up and down, not hiding my perusal.
“Keeping your name from me. It’s fuckingintriguing. A mystery.” He took another sip of his drink, and when his eye contact didn’t stray from mine, I swore the heat from his gaze lit me up and melted my insides.
“I see. And how am I taking a risk?” I asked, his final point lingering in the air.
“You’ve taken many. You’re here talking with me; a stranger you don’t know anything about. You took a chance on whatever I was drinking instead of falling back on what you were sipping from a martini glass just moments ago.” His eyes dipped down to my chest. “This top you’re wearing, risky.” His tongue poked out to lick his lips.
Was I really going to entertain chatting it up with a stranger who’d just let his eyes linger on my tits?
Fuck it.
“Well,stranger, maybe I am feeling a little risky tonight.” He bought me a drink, walked over to me, and sparked up a conversation. The least I could do was meet him halfway, right?
“What do you say we top off these drinks and move over to a booth for more privacy?” I added, feelingrisky.
“Call me Spencer.” His lips lifted into a smirk as he held his hand up to get Colton’s attention. “Another round, please.”
“Whatever you say, Daddy.” Colton winked, and I looked between them with my eyebrows raised at the term of endearment.
Spencer’s smirk fell, his jaw hardening. “Why do I have to call you Spencer, but he gets to call you Daddy?”
“He doesn’t. But play your cards right and you never know what might happen.” Spencer snagged both of our drinks, guiding us to a dimly lit corner with a round booth and tiny cocktail table. It wasn’t until I hopped off my barstool that I realized just how tall he was, even with me wearing heels he still towered over me.
We sat with plenty of space between us, yet the booth still felt like it was our own little world. With his arm curved around the top of the smooth red leather, his fingertips were only inches from my shoulder.
“You know my name. Now, I’m dying to know yours.”
“Let’s see how the rest of the night goes, then maybe I’ll consider giving you my name.” I didn’t have anything to hide, but the little game of it all was thrilling.
“So, you’re saying if I pass your test and check your boxes that you’ll reward me with your name?” Bourbon in hand, he crossed his leg, resting his ankle on the opposite knee.
“Essentially. Being a woman in Las Vegas can be dangerous. I can’t give away the one thing that’s mine before I figure out if I can trust someone or not.”
“Once again, you’re a smart woman. Mind if I ask how old you are?” The question didn’t come off as rude. There was an obvious age gap between us, and I didn’t blame him for wondering.
To be honest, I was wondering the same about him.
