“Thank you.” He smooths down the front of his shirt. “I’m glad you’ve been looking. Admiring?”
He’s really too much.
“I told you,” I insist, my voice low. “I’m not gay.”
“Then why do you keep inching closer to me?”
With a start, I realize he’s right. I’m only a few inches away, and somehow, my glass is nearly empty already.
I step back. “Thank you for the drink,” I manage, my head spinning. “It’s been… memorable.”
My face burning, I turn back to the bar. I need a glass of water.
“Whiskey shot,” Gabriel says as he appears beside me. The bartender I’ve been waiting for immediately acknowledges him with a nod, and Gabriel turns to me. “Don’t worry,” he says casually. “I won’t order you any more drinks.”
“Whiskey shot,” I tell the bartender firmly, defying him.
I am going to sleep so hard tonight.
Gabriel gives me an approving nod. The shots arrive, and we hold each other’s eyes as we throw them back.
The liquor burns.
“You’re full of surprises, Spencer.”
“Trust me. I’m really not.” I eye him. “And you aren’t either. If I remember correctly, I can find the details of your dating life on the front page of every tabloid.”
Gabriel clicks his tongue. My head is really spinning, which explains the fact that I can’t stop staring at his lips.
“Not all the details. I’ve been in the public eye too long for that. Surely the famous tennis stud has figured out how to hide his secrets from the press, too?”
I straighten my back. “What secrets?” I ask, playing ignorant to his insinuation.
Gabriel casually leans back on the bar, keeping his deep voice low and sexy. “Okay. Maybe you didn’t check out my ass earlier. Maybe you don’t look away every time I catch your eye.”
I tear my glance from his before I can stop myself. Shit.
“But are you telling me you never let loose? Never enjoy a threesome with some lucky ladies? Motorcycle ride? Deep-sea fishing? Lock yourself in a penthouse suite with a bunch of joints and a tub of lube?”
I blurt out a laugh. This man is ridiculous.
And the alcohol has my cheeks warm.
“None of the above,” I answer. “And especially nothing in a casino where any random person could see me.”
Gabriel leans closer to me. “Spencer, Spencer,” he says consolingly. “You don’t even know how to disguise yourself?”
I roll my eyes. “Do you have a spare fake mustache in your jeans?”
“Interested in what I’ve got in my jeans again, are we?”
I lean on the bar to steady myself. “No,” I counter pathetically.
After considering me for a second, Gabriel turns on his heel and walks over to a small table. Just as quickly, he strolls back to me, hands behind his back.
“Here you go,” he says, slipping me something under the bar.
I look down and see a sparkly purple mask. “Oh hell no.”
