Smoothing my hands down my tight jeans, I adjusted the lacy top and took a deep breath before pulling out my hair tie and shaking my dark tresses until they fell in loose waves down my back. My hair was my favorite feature. Long, thick, and shiny,there was no way to tell which of my parents I had to thank for it. All of them were blessed by the hair gods.
The song morphed into another, this one a little sexier, and the crowd cheered before couples paired off and began grinding on each other. Glancing at the bar, I decided a little liquid courage was needed before I let my inner baddie out to play.
“Here goes nothing.”
I sidled up to the illuminated bar and leaned just far enough forward to allow the bartender a generous view of my cleavage in hopes he’d pay attention to me. Since almost everyone around me was doing something similar, my plan didn’t exactly strike gold.
I huffed out a breath and drummed my fingers on the sticky surface of the bar.
“Seattle?” a deep, masculine voice asked from beside me.
My gaze snapped to the right, and I had to suck in a breath. I’d seen my fair share of handsome males, but there was something about this one that hit me like a punch in the chest. The man was gorgeous. Cheekbones that could make an artist weep, a jawline men would pay insane amounts of money to have, and full lips I didn’t want to take my eyes off. Even with the mask covering his eyes and the bridge of his nose, I noticed his mesmerizing irises. This light made them appear dark green like a forest at night, but I wondered what they’d look like in the sun.
“Excuse me?” I asked, realizing I’d yet to respond.
He gestured to the flannel around my hips and Dr. Martens. “You look like you’re from Seattle. That’s where the grunge movement started, right?”
“Colorado.”
He frowned. “No, I’m absolutely certain grunge started in Seattle. Kurt Cobain, Nirvana, etc.”
I laughed. “No, I meant I’m from Colorado. Not Seattle. I’ve been there a few times, but never lived there.”
“I see,” he murmured, taking a sip from his highball glass.
It gave me a second to drink in a few more details about him. His platinum blond hair was short on the sides and long on top. Styled in a way that looked like it took hours and half a can of hairspray, not a single hair out of place. I immediately wanted to muss it up.
As he moved to put his glass back down I caught a hint of something spicy. Cinnamon, maybe? With a little bit of amber and…what was that scent?
I didn’t realized I leaned closer to fucking sniff him, until he glanced down at me with an amused smirk.
“May I help you with something, Seattle?”
That knocked me out of my scent induced haze. “Oh, we already have nicknames? Moving fast, aren’t you, professor?”
He balked. “Professor?”
“Yeah.” I waved my hand to indicate his outfit. “The pleated pants, button down shirtandjacket combo? If I’m repping grunge, you’re giving academic.”
He made a humming sound low in his throat. “If you say so.”
I pointed at the guy in tiny bootie shorts who’d just sauntered to the bar and demanded attention. “Well you definitely didn’t dress like him.”
“No, I definitely didn’t.”
“Where are you from? Boston? New York? Connecticut? You’re giving Ivy league, collegiate, probably with tenure.” Leaning back, I inspected his sleeves. “Hmmm, no elbow patches, though. Do you have spectacles in your breast pocket?”
His lips twitched in the barest hint of laughter. “No. I have perfect eyesight.”
“Shame.”
The man would ruin an entire generation of women in some slutty little glasses. Add in a couple of nicely veined forearms and I bet the men would go with us.
“So, who does a girl have to kill to get a drink around here?” I asked after a few awkward seconds passed.
“No murder necessary,” he murmured, flagging down the bartender with the slightest gesture.
I was more than a little annoyed, until I saw the look on the guy’s face as he approached. I was absolutely not his type and these boobs were never going to work on him. But the professor’s whole vibe? It worked like a charm.
