Then again, were this a regular date, he’d score major points for the wine... even if I won’t touch it.
I like observant, attentive men. Colt sat at my table at the precise switch time, so he must’ve cut his previous date short to order me a drink.
“Either you lost a bet, took a bet, or your friend dragged you here, claiming it’ll be fun.” I push the wine toward him. “Thank you, but I don’t accept drinks from strangers unless I see them being poured.”
He raises an eyebrow, looking me over. I’m aware that I indirectly accused him of being a drink-spiking psycho, but whatever. Better safe than sorry.
To my surprise, instead of getting upset, he smiles small, his laid-back attitude shining like a beacon. “Smart,” he says, velvety voice reminding me of rich dark chocolate.
Without another word, he grabs the wine and walks away.
I raise a questioning eyebrow. He didn’t look offended, so I don’t think he’s ditching me... I hope he isn’t. That would be pretty awkward.
Thankfully, he doesn’t go far and returns after forty seconds, armed with a fresh, empty glass and a sealed bottle of a 2004Château de Beaucastel.
As if buying a two-hundred-dollar bottle for a girl he met a minute ago is a regular occurrence, he takes a seat, uncorking the bottle with long tattooed fingers.
“Watch my hands, Audrey,” he chides, pinning me with a pointed stare until I drop my gaze.“And as to your question, the latter is correct. No bets.” The cork pops out, and Colt checks I’m still watching.
Another point—he’s not ogling my chest, even though the low-cut dress my best friend talked me into wearing acts like a black hole for men’s eyes, dragging them down. I told Rubysexyis the least of my concerns, but she didn’t listen. Not even when I said I won’t pay with my body.
“It won’t fucking hurt if they find you attractive, will it? Bigger chance someone will agree.”
She knows men better than I do, so I took her word.
Colt here is either very well behaved or has seen enough breasts that mine don’t leave much of an impression.
“Eyes on my hands,” he reminds, sounding amused as he pours the red liquid into the glass. “You’re not here voluntarily either,” he continues, replacing the cork and sliding the wine toward me. “But you’re enjoying this more than you expected, even if most guys are boring you half to death. You know exactly what you want and aren’t wasting energy on men who don’t meet your requirements.”
I cross my arms over my chest, impressed how easily he reads me. He hasn’t mentioned any specifics, but he’s more observant than anyone else I’ve spoken to. Maybe because he’s not distracted by my boobs.
Pinching the glass, I take a measured sip, savoring the taste exploding on my tongue.
“Better?” he asks, leaning back against his chair.
“Much better. Thank you.” I take another sip—a tiny pause to gather my thoughts. “I’m sorry for not trusting what you said, but I still think you’ve bet a friend you’ll leave with more numbers than him.”
“Brother. Two of them, actually. They aren’t participating, so there’s no competition, but you can cling to the bet idea if it helps. It takes time to change your mind once it’s set.”
I shift in my seat, both pleased and scared how fast he’s deciphered my personality. The competitor inside me takes the reins. No way I’ll fall behind in this game.
“You spend your free time above or below women who are up for anything once you’ve bought them a drink, but it doesn’t give you much pleasure.” I flash him a triumphant smile. Judging by the surprise in his eyes, I hit the jackpot. “You work with your brain, not your hands.”
That’s a wild guess based on three things: the obvious aura of importance droning around him, the fact Newport is filled with bankers and investors, and because his hands look soft. No callouses or cuts, but...
“Given the F1 keyring peeking from your back pocket...” I ghost my finger along the rim of the glass while I think, “...and the remnants of... I want to say engine oil, under your fingernails, you’re into cars.”
Colt studies his fingers, finding a few dark spots. Dragging his eyes back up, they flit over the electronic countdown behind me. Its reflection in the mirrored ceiling tells me we only have ninety seconds before he moves to the next table.
“You graduated with honors,” he says, weighing every word. “You’re involved in charity work. You’d rather read a mediocre book than watch the best movie. You’re fully aware how beautiful you are and how it affects men, but you have more self-respect than any woman in this room.”
“A pretty face is more trouble than it’s worth, Colt.”
“Abeautifulface is just the packaging. If there’s nothing interesting inside, it only works on teenagers.” He rests his elbows on the table, leaning over. “What are you looking for tonight?”
A man who’ll follow instructions and needs fifteen grand.
The watch on Colt’s wrist is worth at least half that, so... “Definitely not you.” I’m sure he can follow instructions just fine, but I doubt he needs the money. “What areyoulooking for?”
