Ted hasn’t noticed me yet, but the man on the stool next to me sure has. He’s been clearing his throat for the last couple of minutes trying to get my attention. I steadfastly ignore him while trying not to gag on his pungent cologne, my attention on the TV. He finally stands up. Hopefully he’s leaving now.
But instead, he leans onto the bar on one elbow, so close to me now that I can feel his body heat.
“Hey,” he says, nudging me in the arm.
Glancing over my shoulder at him, I realize he looks familiar. Blinding white teeth, piercing blue eyes, a jaw that could cut glass, and a reeking stench of entitlement that almost overpowers his cologne.
Narrowing my eyes, I say, “Oh. Aren’t you the…”
“Mason Sharp,” he reminds me, and I’m almost impressed when he doesn’t actually add the phraseGod’s gift to womenat the end. “We met at the Cove restaurant.”
“Right,” I say disinterestedly. “I forgot about that. Well, have a good night.”
I return to the game, but Mason doesn’t budge.
“My night will be a lot better if you join me for a stroll on the beach. Unless you’d like me to buy you a drink first?”
Is he fucking serious?
When I look back over at Mason, scathing rebuttal on my tongue, I catch sight of Ted and his companion across the room again. Only this time, I recognize the other man who Ted is with. It’s my father. Both of them look my way.
My heart skips a beat, and Dad’s brows knit as his gaze meets mine. As far as he knows, I’m supposed to be in bed with a migraine right now. Oops.
“I have plans with someone else, actually,” I tell Mason. “So no thanks.”
He smirks. “If that someone else left you here at the bar all by yourself, I doubt?—”
“Blair!” Ted says, appearing behind Mason like an angel in a baseball cap. “There you are.”
Mason turns around, probably to say something jackassy, but whatever it is seems to get stuck in his throat as he tilts his head back to take in Ted’s impressive six-foot-four frame.
I grin with self-satisfaction. "Hi, Ted. Perfect timing, as usual.”
Sidling up to me, Ted puts a protective arm around my shoulders and nods at Mason.
“Ted Polansky,” he introduces himself, extending a hand. “And you are?”
Mason shakes with Ted, looking irritated. “Mason Sharp.”
The two of them stare each other down, and I might be flattered at this little love triangle if I didn’t find Mason so utterly unappealing in every way.
“Mason was just leaving,” I cut in. “Why don’t you take his stool, Ted?”
“Cool,” he says, nodding as he slides onto the vacant stool beside me. “Catch you later, Mase.”
“Bye,” I say sweetly to Mason, then smile at Ted. “Did you see Mauricio try to steal third?”
“He’s got the speed, but everybody has eyes on him right now. He shouldn’t have risked it.”
We dive into a breakdown of the first few innings, and the next time I look over my shoulder, there’s no sign of Mason Sharp anywhere in the bar.
“Don’t worry. He’s long gone,” Ted tells me. “Though the smell of his cologne might take longer to disappear.”
I laugh. “Thanks for rescuing me again. What were you talking to my dad about? Is he trying to lure you onto the Rockets?”
“Of course not,” Ted says earnestly. “I came in to watch the game and he was already here at a table, so I joined him. How about you?”
I bat my lashes and put a hand on his forearm. “I was looking for you.”
