Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“Hard pass on that guy, huh?”
The masculine voice comes from my left, and I jolt in surprise when I realize the question’s directed at me. I’ve only been dimly aware of my fellow bar patrons, and I vaguely remember someone taking the stool beside me and ordering a Hendrick’s martini with olives. But after he went with regular olives instead of the bartender’s suggestion of bleu cheese olives, I hadn’t given him another thought. I’m of the mindset that when an offer of cheese is on the table, the answer is always yes, so he failed my test he didn’t even know he was taking.
But I’m regretting now that I didn’t pay him more attention, because perhaps I’d have identified the fact that he is a creep. He’s clearly been watching what I’m doing on my phone, and as far as I’m concerned, that should be illegal.
I very obviously, and yes, a bit passively aggressively, set my phone face down on the bar and pivot towards him.
“Seriously?” I say in my frostiest voice. I lift my wine glass and deliberately set my seething oh no you didn’t glare at his elbow beside mine on the bar and let it travel slowly upwards, imagining burning through his suit sleeve with my indignant anger.
Finally, my eyes reach his.
Oh my.
My intentions of telling him off fly out the window when our gazes meet, because those are nice. Startlingly so. They’re a delicious piercing blue, so cool they’re nearly gray . . .
My stomach flips, and not in the good way.
I know those eyes. I just saw them. On TapThat.
The color drains from my face. Or maybe the color floods to my face, I’m not sure. All I know is I want to die, because the guy sitting beside me doesn’t just look like the guy I’d just passed over on the dating app.
He is that guy.
And he’s literally just watched me reject him outright.
To his credit, he doesn’t put up a defensive smirk. Nor does he look annoyed, or pissed, or hurt, which would be worst of all.
Mostly he looks bemused by the entire situation, his eyebrows lifted in a silent challenge. Well?
I clear my throat as my brain scrambles for proper protocol in this situation. Bad move. The throat-clearing creates a throat tickle. One of those small but aggressive ones that come out of nowhere and make your eyes water as you cough in a futile attempt to soothe the tickle.
It’s one of the few things in life that wine won’t fix, and I look around for the bartender to beg for the water I’d declined when she’d offered it earlier.
The man rolls his eyes slightly at my frenzied hacking, and uses a single finger to push me his water glass. I gulp it frantically until the throat tickle abates, and set the empty glass back on the bar.
I give him what I hope is a grateful and charming smile. In the best of circumstances, I know my smile is rather charming. Or, at the very least, I like to think it’s one of my best features.
Granted, the word used most often to describe my smile is great, or less flatteringly, big. Not pretty, or beautiful.
But it’s toothy and bright, and when I shine it at people, even the grumpy ones tend to smile back.
Not so with this guy. Hmm.
My smile dims slightly, but I’m still determined to make amends. “So. Hi.”
“Hello.” His voice isn’t quite unkind, just . . . bored.
Ouch. I am a lot of things, but I know I’m not boring. I turn towards him a little more fully, just in case he missed the fact that I’m wearing a lace bustier beneath my tuxedo-style blazer. For added good measure, I tuck my hair behind my ear, knowing it calls attention to my trademark blue streak at my temple that’s a stark contrast to the platinum blonde of the rest of my head.
But the man’s attention is back on his cocktail, and he misses the whole show. Fine. If he’s not going to check me out, I’ll study him.
I’ll give the guy credit, he’s better in person. His photo on TapThat didn’t do justice to the Captain America vibes of his cheekbones and jawline, and it missed the ever-so-slight dent in his chin entirely.
Decent body, too. Not as big and broad as I like my guys, but neither is he short and scrawny. The way his suit jacket stretches across his shoulders is nice. Quite nice.
And yet . . . not my type. Not even a little bit. His haircut is short and boring, his gaze too direct, and he’s wearing a suit. I hate guys in suits.
And then there’s his energy. I’m big into noticing people’s energy, and this guy gives off very quiet, intense vibes. Not at all laid-back-and-charming like I like ’em.