Page 9 of Last Resort

“Thank you,” I murmur.

“So, Tom Collins.” There’s that grin of his. “Why is it that I’m barking up the wrong tree?”

“Well, Johnnie Walker, I assure you that whoever you’re looking for, I’m not her.”

His eyes take a long, languorous appraisal of my body, my skin heating under the intensity of his gaze before he gives the slightest nod. “That’s where we disagree, then.”

I give a half laugh and shake my head. “Glad you think so, but I’m sure you have women falling at your feet most days and—”

“True. I mean it’s a tough gig, but somebody has to do it, right?” He gives a half-cocked smirk that is so stunning it’s breathtaking.

For fuck’s sake, why is his arrogance so sexy? Why does his stoic expression and those words falling from his lips do things to my insides? But it’s the chuckle that he emits, the one that rumbles its way between the apex of my thighs, that has me giving a little shake of my shoulders.

“Cute, but rest assured, I don’t beg, and I’m far from interested.”

Who the hell is this girl right now?

“Is that a challenge?” he asks, those eyes of his freezing me in my place as a ghost of a smirk plays on his lips.

“It’s a fact.”

“Everyone begs. When it’s good enough . . . you beg.”

“Smooth. I bet you get all the girls with lines like that.”

Another chuckle. A deliberate sip of his whiskey that says I just might be right. A glance away and then back at me.

“Shh.” He leans in closer and lowers his voice. “I’m not one to kiss and tell.”

“Why me?” I ask.

“Why you, what?”

“Why are you buying me a drink instead of one of these other ladies?” I look at the various women lining the bar.

“Does it matter?”

“It matters.”

“Because of Betty Bradshaw.”

“Betty who?” I laugh.

“Betty Bradshaw. She broke my heart in the third grade when she dumped me after I bought her Twinkies instead of Ding Dongs.”

“A girl after my own heart,” I tease. “Everyone knows a Ding Dong is better.”

The look of disdain mixed with the grin he’s fighting from the ridiculousness of my words has my own smile widening.

Yes. I did just actually say Ding Dongs are better to a sexy man.

Johnnie clears his throat. “For the record, Betty broke my heart. Right there in the middle of the attendance line. She told me she preferred Jimmy Rodgers because he brought her Ding Dongs and not Twinkies.”

“And what, pray tell, does this have anything to do with why you offered to buy me a drink?”

“Absolutely nothing.” He flashes a boyish smile. “But I thought it might keep you here a little longer so it was worth a shot.”

“Ah, clever and handsome.”