Startled, she jerked around, and her eyes went wide when they met mine. Her full, glossy lips formed an “Oh,” and she shifted her weight as if unsure what to do next.
“Elias.” Her voice cracked halfway through my name, and she cleared her throat.
“Are you leaving? I was hoping we could have a drink.”
“I...” She glanced over her shoulder toward the parking lot, then back to me, her brow furrowed. She parted her lips to say something, and I knew from the conflict playing across her face she was about to make an excuse and leave, but then her mouth snapped shut, and her features relaxed. “Sure. Why not?”
“Right on.”
Relief loosened my tight muscles. The last thing I needed was the physical backlash of an outright rejection. I pulled out her stool for her and sat down on the one next to it. She avoided eye contact and instead tried to flag the bartender.
I rested my elbow on the bar. “You have me at a disadvantage.”
She gave me a sidelong glance. “I do?” She resumed her quest for the bartender, extending an arm and waving her hand. She finally caught his attention, and he came to take our order.
“You do. I still don’t know your name.”
Her head snapped up, eyebrows jumping toward her hairline.
Finally, I had her attention.
She scrunched her nose, and a hint of pink colored her freckled cheeks. “I never did mention my name on the beach, did I?” Her tone was half remorseful, half embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I’m Lena. Lena Sommer.”
“Nice to officially meet you, Lena Sommer.” I winked.
“Really.” She leaned in and winced apologetically. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t in the best of moods earlier. I’m still not to be honest, but that’s no reason to be rude.”
“You’re fine. I was just teasing. And we’re here now, aren’t we? Sharing a drink?”
The bartender returned and set our drinks on the bar. I lifted my beer. “Consider this a do over.”
Her shoulders relaxed, and the corner of her mouth kicked up. “Done.”
Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I twisted on my stool to find a curvy redhead with too much makeup and too little clothing standing behind me. I should have seen this coming.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Are you going to sing again tonight?” Her voice was high and flirty, and her question sounded more like a plea.
Time to let her down gently, make sure she’d come back another night. “No, not tonight,” I said and plastered my face with regret. “But I sing here regularly. So does Niko—my friend who performed earlier? Maybe you’ll catch us another time.”
“Ohhh.” She drew out the sound in a long whine, crossed her arms, and pouted. “I’m here for the golf tournament. I’m leaving Sunday.”
What a shame.
She lingered for an awkward moment like a fly caught in honey, stuck there by my voice. I turned back to Lena who bit her lip, trying not to laugh, and sipped my beer.
“Have a good night then,” the woman squeaked and flounced off.
Lena’s resolve broke, and she snickered deeply, the husky quality of her voice making even her mocking sexy. She lifted an eyebrow, and there was more than a little judgment in that look.
“What?”
“You have quite the fan club.”
I shrugged. She wasn’t wrong.
She made a point of craning her neck to look over my shoulder, so I followed her gaze. Several women cast furtive glances in our direction, whispering, gesturing, giggling. I turned back to Lena who, for the first time since I’d met her, smiled, her grey eyes sparkling with amusement. I didn’t care how many other women gawped at me as long as she continued to look at me with that combination of delight and mischief.
“Does this happen often?”
