Bait (Wake, #1)(2)

Leaning toward him a little to get his attention, I said, “What are you drinking? It's Casey, right?” I was, obviously, really smooth. It was evident he’d been drinking the same draught beer I had. Okay, so I didn't know what to say to him, but I really wanted him to talk to me.

“Right.” He was tight-lipped. I didn't feel like being a pest, so I waited patiently for the bartender. I bounced and bobbed to the song playing that filtered in from the large, banquet-style room on the other side of the bar.

“And...” I coaxed.

Finally, he spoke more than just two words in a row, “I'm drinking a new Bay brew. It's pretty good.” But he still refused to look at me straight in the eye.

“I think I'm drinking a Bay beer, too. It must be local.”

“They're local,” he said. “I'm a brewer. That's what I do.” It finally seemed like he might be interested in small talk with me. I was relieved.

“That's cool. I'm a chef. A sous chef now, but I'll be head day chef soon. So...” I trailed off, and faked my impatience waiting for another pint.

“That's how you and Micah know each other then? You’re friends from school? I think she mentioned that.” I liked his voice. It sounded raspy and fallow. I definitely didn't want him to stop talking.

His eyes finally met mine and then he seemed to survey me from head to toe. It made me self-conscious, like my face had something on it, but I pretended to be unaffected. He was blatantly taking inventory of me, which worked in my favor because I wanted to do the same.

“Yeah, we lived together for a few years. Micah’s amazing and she looks really happy with your brother.”

He nodded his agreement. “I know. They make me nauseous sometimes, but yeah, they're good for each other.” Casey finished his beer and motioned to the bartender to bring two instead of just mine. “If you cook as well as her, I bet you're pretty damn good.” There was almost a grin hiding behind the beginnings of a beard he had going on.

“Thanks, I'm sure your beer is pretty damn good, too,” I said in return. He was finally being friendly. I could be, too. He gave the bartender money for both our beers.

“Thank you.” He turned in the stool facing me. I had his full attention. His eyes didn't look like they had when he walked in. He looked more at ease. More comfortable.

“Oh, you'd like my brew,” he said and nodded confidently, with the first real smile he'd gifted me.

It was worth the wait. I felt like I’d truly earned it.

“How do you know that? I have a very particular palate.” Cleary flirting, I arched an eyebrow.

It was true. My mouth had an uncanny ability to detect things. It worked well for me in my occupation. Chances were, if I liked a dish I could guess the ingredients from taste alone. It hadn’t ever failed me.

“Because you've already had four of them. Going on five.” His fresh smile broke clean through, teeth and all. He was charming me and he had me dangling on a line. I laughed in jest at the trap that I’d played right into. If it kept that look on his face, he could have tricked me all night.

When Casey smiled, his whole face was involved. His eyes, his cheeks, his mouth, those teeth, his chest puffed out, and his head tipped back. He looked pretty damn proud. His delight was contagious.

He had the most perfect set of teeth I had ever seen.

I needed to leave him alone.

That was probably why I felt the need to deflate his ever-growing ego. So, I told him, “I've had better.”

“I doubt that.”

I feigned offense. “That's awfully cocky. You're the cocky twin then?” I retorted in an attempt to knock his peg down a rung. I failed. Miserably.

“If you mean I have the better cock, then yeah. I'm the cock one.”

“I said cocky.” My mouth went dry and even though it played right into his hands, I took a long drink of my beer.

Casey leaned in and said, “See? You already can't get enough.”

“You're trouble.”

“Yeah, I am trouble. And you should go dance with your friends before you find out what kind.” The mischievous gleam in his hazel eyes promised he could back up the threat.

That called for another long drink. Did I want trouble? I typically wasn't a trouble seeker. So why didn't I want to walk away? God, I probably looked like a fool standing there with my beer glass that hovered in front of my mouth while I stared at him. All I could think about was that mouth and those teeth all over me.

I broke my blatant stare and, instead, watched his lips move in the mirror behind the bar as he said, “I can tell you right now, that isn't a good idea.”

“What? You don't know what I'm thinking.” I blushed. Did he? No. But what had he assumed I'd thought?

I stole a glance at the dance floor and then my eyes went right back to him. Standing there flirting probably would get me in trouble.

I had a boyfriend.

I had an almost fiancé.

But he stayed in Seattle. He made his choice. A voice inside me said, this might be a good time to sow some oats. Surely, it had to be better to cheat on a boyfriend than a fiancé. I'd never once cheated before. It wasn't how I rolled. But Casey was too good to pass up.

What would one night hurt? I was drunk, right? This happened to people all the time. They made poor decisions after drinking too much. I hadn't drunk enough to completely sever myself from my better judgment, but I had drunk enough to pretend I had.