Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(33)

“Didn’t follow you here, Scampi.”

He tipped his head to the left, and she spotted Connor at the other side of the bar. He held up his beer in a silent cheers.

“Came for a drink, saw you being assaulted,” Donovan said.

“I would hardly call that assault.”

“You were alone; it could’ve turned into one.”

An out-of-place shiver iced her spine. She doubted Scott would have gone further, and she hadn’t planned on being alone with him anywhere. Then again, he’d had a few drinks. Who knew how much braver one more would’ve made him? Dating was risky no matter what, but she thought she knew Scott well enough to feel comfortable with him.

Her eyes went to Donovan. Maybe she was a bad judge of character.

But he never made her skin crawl when he touched her, or made her uncomfortable when he stood close. His nearness now was having the opposite effect, dancing on the line of attraction. All over it, actually.

And he’d been right. She hadn’t appreciated Scott’s hands on her body.

“Torsett, party of two,” the hostess announced from her podium.

“He left,” Donovan shouted across the bar.

The hostess opened her mouth to ask another question before opting not to and scratching the name off her clipboard.

Scott, done chatting at the door and on his way out, sent Sofie a look of betrayal before storming outside. Fantastic. She’d bet the chances of planning Torsett & Torsett Law’s next Christmas party hovered between slim and none.

Her wine was delivered and Donovan snatched the glass before she could take it.

“My tab,” he instructed the bartender, resting his hand on the small of Sofie’s back. She noted not a single alarm rose in her head. In fact, she felt safer with him than she did anyone. Safe. That word again.

Strange.

As he led her to where Connor sat, she tried to ignore the warmth spreading along her waist and up her back, the same charged current she’d sworn she imagined the moment he touched her years ago.

Every tingle, every surge, had returned with a vengeance.

Connor stood and offered his seat.

She waved him off. “You don’t have to do that.”

He tossed some bills onto the bar. “Only planned on staying for one, Sofe. Sorry about the display of vigilante justice.”

“Thanks.” She smiled.

Couldn’t be helped. Connor was charming.

“Don’t stay out past your bedtime.” With that thinly veiled instruction, and a flash of his dimples, he headed out the door.

Donovan pulled out the barstool for her.

She slid onto the seat. “You have these weird moments of polite interspersed with Neanderthal, did you know that?”

He didn’t answer. Just as well since the question was rhetorical.

Lifting his beer, he swallowed a drink and licked his bottom lip. Her eyes zeroed in on the fullness of that lip, remembering the way it felt to have his mouth on hers. If only there were some way to get that part of her brain lobotomized. Cut out the entire Donny Pate part…

She raised her glass and guzzled down a drink, swallowing past the burn in her throat. Wine wasn’t a guzzling kind of drink, but her thoughts needed to be bound and gagged. Plying them with alcohol seemed a good start to getting them to comply.

Depositing her purse on top of the bar next to her elbow, she and Donny sat in silence for a while, watching the patrons and bar staff bustle about.

Salty Dog’s highly polished wooden walls, booths covered in vinyl the shade of terra cotta, and shining lacquered tables made for a comfortable, warm atmosphere. Framed paintings by the locals were screwed into the walls, one of them she recognized as Evan’s star from his and Asher’s children’s book, The Adventures of Mad Cow.

They’d hung the cartoon cow in here after last year’s Starving Artist auction. Which reminded her, she needed to ask Evan if he had anything to donate for the Open Arms dinner. A painting of Mad Cow would get a ton of bids.

She smiled at the painting, the character Charlie called “a badass bovine.” Mad Cow’s attractive scowl reminded Sofie of Evan.

In a way, reminded her of Donovan, too. Though Donovan’s scowl was somehow sadder.

“Ruby was really excited to see the mansion,” she said, breaking the silence between them.

Slowly, Donovan turned his head. “Sounded like it.”

“I couldn’t find you to say good-bye. I wanted to thank you for stepping in for the tour. I know I kind of sprang her on you.”

“You wanted to thank me for that but not for helping you end your miserable date?” he asked with a small smile.

Unwilling to reopen that can of worms, she continued deliberately. “So, I just wanted to thank you for the suggestions about how to set up the kitchen. You were convincing.” She spun her wineglass, watching the golden liquid wash onto the inside of the glass. “Sounded like you were all in.”

“I am.”

“Oh.” News to her.

“I thought we could stay away from each other,” he said, making her wonder if he was suggesting he couldn’t resist her any more than she could resist him.

She allowed her eyes to graze him from head to toe. He looked good leaning, his elbows on the bar, battered black boots hooked on the bottom rung of the stool. He was in black tonight—black jeans, snug black tee outlining impressive biceps. Ink tracked up both arms. Years ago, he had a black leather jacket. She wondered if he still did.