Page 6 of Flirting with 40

He has to be.

It would be a detriment to women everywhere if I was right, but why else would he be sitting in a bar like this on a Thursday night talking to me when he could be hitting on the gorgeous brunette a few seats down who keeps eyeing him.

No longer flustered by his too-long stare, I turn the conversation to him. “What about you, Slade? Why are you here tonight? Killing time until your girlfriend gets off work?”

The roll of his eyes and lightning flash of his grin shouldn’t affect me the way they do, but they do.

“More like avoiding my mom who’s visiting from out of town and who is currently invading my house.” He tips his drink back and emits an audible sigh.

“That bad?”

“Ever had a meddling Italian mother who asks too many questions, berates you because all the women you’ve dated aren’t good enough, and blames you for her not having any grandchildren when she has three other children who are just as capable?”

He isn’t gay.

“Can’t say that I have.” I smile in sympathy.

“If you’d love to experience it, be my guest. She’s probably making some kind of incredible dinner to lower your defenses and win you over before she goes for the jugular,” he says and laughs.

“At least she feeds you before unleashing her full-fledged mother guilt on you.”

“True.” The ice in his glass clinks as he swirls his tumbler, eyes focused on it. “But it’s been quite the adjustment having her stay with me for a bit.”

“Cramping your style.”

“Something like that,” he murmurs and then looks my way again. “Why here?”

“Why where?” I ask.

“This bar of all bars. I’ve never seen you in here before.”

“You frequent it often?” I ask, which earns a low rumble of a laugh from him.

“Now and then when I’m not working, but you . . . you don’t seem like someone who cares about hitting the trendy spots to be seen.”

“What do I seem like?” I ask and then wish I could take the words back because I fear the answer.

His eyes sparkle as they shamelessly take me in, and I want to squirm under their scrutiny. “Cautious but curious. Beautiful but doesn’t acknowledge it. Here but not sure why. And definitely interested in the man she’s talking to but isn’t exactly sure how to let him know. But those are just observations. Give me a bit, and I’ll let you know if I’m right or not.”

Oh. Okay. Um . . . thoughts. String them together. I know I’m out of touch with this dating, flirting, whatever this is type of thing, but I shouldn’t be this addled.

Usually, if a guy fed me lines like that, I’d tell him he was trying too hard and it would never work . . . but there is something about Slade—the candid, unassuming way that he delivers the lines—that makes me blush instead of cringe.

“So . . .” He lets the word float between us until I meet his eyes. “Why here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Why here? Are you here to be seen at the trendy spot?”

He chuckles. “I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about being trendy. I’m meeting a friend in a bit and decided to stop in and have a drink beforehand. What about you? Why here?”

“I don’t know,” I murmur, knowing I can’t exactly explain I’m here for reconnaissance so I can understand someone his age. “I’ve heard a buzz about it, so after the day I had . . . I thought, why not?”

“Well, I am glad that, for whatever reason, you stopped in here tonight.”

Our eyes hold, that smile of his unwavering as my cheeks flush with heat. I do my best to push away all of my insecurities threatening to derail my thoughts.

I jump when the cell phone on the bar top between us rings. Slade groans when he picks it up and sees the number on the screen.

“Excuse me a second. I’ve been waiting for this call. Do you mind?”