Long Ball(48)

Even with the ego-boosting shine on my lips, I hesitate with my hand against the door. Okay, I’ll just walk out and not even look at him on the way past, no big deal. He’s just a random guy.

The bar’s filled a little more, gotten a little warmer and louder. I sidestep a woman heading to the bathroom and get nudged closer to Tattooed Guy’s table in the process. My accidental arm flail when attempting to right myself seems to catch his attention and I’m pinned with his eyes—gorgeous stormy teal eyes so shocking I’m almost knocked off balance again.

“Hey.” He grins and I melt at the sound of his voice, rough and raw and scratchy like a needle on an old record.

And now I have to respond. Pretending I don’t know he’s talking to me would be rude, and I’m already half-turning toward him like a flower to the sun. “Hey,” I manage in return.

There. We exchanged greetings as I passed. It’s all good. Now keep walking on.

Except, he says more. “Thank you.”

“For?” He’s alone again, I realize, his overfriendly visitor gone.“For?”

He holds up his bottle. “You bought me a drink. And then refused my invitation.” His head tilts to the side. “That’s kind of contradictory, isn’t it?”

“Sort of?” Dammit. Now I have to explain. “Okay, here’s the thing.” God, this is embarrassing. “I really didn’t buy you the drink. It was my friend.”

“Oh.” He looks back at Alex, alone at the table. Is it my imagination, or does he sound disappointed? “So she’s the fan then?”



Is it my imagination, or does he sound disappointed? “Excuse me?” If by “fan” he means “the girl who’s strangely, inexplicably drawn to him”, then no. That would be me. Total fangirl here.

He doesn’t repeat himself, turning his focus back to me. “Nothing. Sit down for a minute.” He’s so authoritative as he says it, as if he knows there’s no way I’d say no.

It’s not the way men usually talk to me. And it does something to me—makes me light-headed and dazed. Makes me want to do anything he tells me to do.

I bite my lip. I should politely decline and go back to the table with Alex, and then go home to finish packing. I should forget how the husk in his voice makes my insides quiver. I should definitely not think anymore about what’s under his clothes. I should—

His deep, teal eyes focus on my scarf for a long, lingering moment. Most women would kill for eyelashes that long and thick. Most women would kill to be looked at with such a lingering stare. “That’s a nice scarf.”

Even if Alex hadn’t explained what she had earlier, the tone of his voice says it all. He’s most certainly not talking about my scarf.

And for the millioneth time tonight, I find I can’t help myself. I slide into the booth beside him. “Thank you.”

“So.” His thigh is close to mine, radiating heat that makes me want more and is too hot all at once and I wonder if its too late to sit across from him instead of next to him, knowing that even if it’s not ,I’ll never move.

“So.” I repeat, unable to look anywhere but at my hands fidgeting on the table.

His eyes are on mine though. I feel them, warm and curious. “Why would your friend buy me a drink and say it was from you?” There’s a hint of teasing in his tone, and it’s obvious that he’s guessed the answer.

I throw a glare at Alex, who beams my way. “Well.” I lick my lips, stalling. “I’m moving soon and she was trying to find me a date before I left.”

“Why bother if you’re moving?”

“She wasn’t thinking long term.”

“Hmm.” The simple sound reverberates through my body like I’m a string that’s been plucked. “And why did she choose me? There are plenty of other single men in the bar tonight.”

You were the only one I noticed.

But I shrug. “I’m not sure. I guess you looked like the kind of short term guy who’d fit the bill for a short term thing.”

He leans in. “That’s funny. I was thinking the same thing about you.”

All words leave my vocabulary at the dark, brazen lust in his voice, at the words that can’t possibly be true. There’s no way anyone would peg me for a hook-up type of girl, no matter how much I might secretly want him too. “I, uh—”

“Why are you leaving town?” he asks as he straightens, creating a more comfortable distance between us.

Even though he’s lightened the mood, my belly is tight and my head confused.

“Work.”

“Don’t tell me. Let me guess what you do.”

I set my purse on the table and angle my body so that I can face him. Or maybe so that my knee will brush against his like it is now. “Why?”

“It’s a game. I’m good at playing this one.” His gaze crawls up my body. “You do something important with finances. Banking, maybe?”

I roll my eyes. “You’re terrible at this game. I’m a musician.”

“Oh?” His easygoing smile fades a bit. “Like in a band? Are you moving to Hollywood to find your big break on a television talent show? Or Nashville to lay down some demo tracks?”