“I feel like I should warn you,” I say as I slide onto the seat, “I’m very picky.”
“About what?”
“Everything.”
His mouth curves. “Good. So am I.”
A bartender appears, and we order—something light, something easy, something that gives me an excuse to wrap my hands around a glass and pretend I’m not hyper-aware of the man sitting next to me.
“So,” I say, turning slightly toward him, “you’re new to Vegas.”
“I am.”
“Voluntarily?”
“Depends on the day.”
I narrow my eyes. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting right now.”
“Are you always this evasive?”
“Only when I just met someone.”
“Wow. You’re really selling this date.”
“You already bought it,” he points out.
Rude. But fair.
“So what do you do, Kathryn?” he asks.
“Marketing.”
“That explains it.”
I frown. “What does that mean?”
“You’re clearly observant.”
“I feel like that was almost a compliment.”
Now he frowns. “It was suppose to be.”
I tilt my head. “Almost.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh, and something in my chest flips.
Uh oh. This is exactly how it starts.
A little banter. A little chemistry. A littlemaybe this time will be different.
I take a sip of my drink, steadying myself.
“So,” I say, “if you’re not going to tell me why you’re in Vegas, can you at least tell me if you’re planning to stick around?”
“For a while.”
