Conviction (Consolation Duet #2)(81)

“Aw, you know me, Blaine. Always makin’ friends,” Craig snickered before taking a sip of his fresh beer.

Blaine.

Even his name was sexy as hell, and I resisted the urge to try it out on my tongue. He placed his palms against the bar, and leaned in, looking at me expectantly. Shit, I really didn’t want the attention. But he looked at me intently, his head cocked to one side, with his mouth curled up, and I couldn’t think of anything witty or even rude to say to make the guys go away.

It made me nervous. Like, really nervous. So I tore my eyes away from his and nodded towards a HELP WANTED sign propped up on a high shelf. “You guys hiring?”

Blaine turned and looked at the sign before bringing those brown eyes back to me. “Yeah. Waitresses, line cooks. A bartender. Looking for work?”

“Maybe,” I shrugged before taking a sip of my drink while I surveyed the room. It was a good-sized place, and it was centrally located. But, it was virtually empty aside from a few bar patrons. “Did this place just open or something?”

“Nah,” he responded with a little shake of his head. The lock of hair fell farther into his line of vision, and much to my dismay, he swept it to the side, tucking it back into his cap. “Just got new management.”

Craig snorted and rolled his eyes before taking a chug of his beer. He turned his attention back to me and waggled his eyebrows. “So darlin,’ where were we? Oh right . . . how about Puerto Rican? Mexican? I have to be close. Did I get it right? Or are you just gonna keep me guessing all day?”

Ignoring Craig completely, my gaze fell to Blaine’s hands. They rested on the bar, just inches from mine. On one hand, he had a letter written in some type of old script on each finger. The other had a design on the back that fused into the piece crawling up his arm. My eyes followed the vibrantly detailed pattern slowly, studying every line and curl. Even shrouded in ink, I could tell his arms were magnificently cut and defined with muscle. Muscles that flexed and quivered as he leaned against the bar, causing his biceps and shoulders to strain against his fitted, plain white t-shirt.

“So are ya?” Craig asked, intruding on my thoughts and pulling me away from the splendor of Blaine’s arms.

“Huh?” I sputtered, looking up with a doe-eyed expression and praying that neither of them had noticed my shameless gawking. They both chuckled, making me believe that my prayers had gone unanswered.

“Are ya a spicy Latina?” Craig asked as he leaned in closer, hoping to steer my attention to him.

I could feel my lips curve into a grimace, and I swallowed down the disgust I felt at that very moment. Without knowing what to do or say next, I looked up at Blaine, whose eyes were still trained on me, an amused grin on his face. Initially, my eyes widened as if to plead for help then settled into a dreamy stare. They wanted to continue their study of Blaine’s physique and I really couldn’t blame them. And who was I to deprive my peepers of the sexiest piece of man-candy they had seen in years?

Noticing the flash of desperation in my expression, his smile broadened, and he turned to Craig, releasing me from his compelling gaze. “As always, you’re way off, CJ,” he said, as he turned his body sideways to rest on an elbow. The move allowed me a better inspection of his torso, and revealed a chest and abs under the thin fabric that just begged for a tongue to trace each defined cut. The weight of his body supported by his elbow caused his bicep to stretch his shirt even more. I envied that damn t-shirt.

“How so, cuz?” Craig asked, pausing before bringing his beer bottle to his lips.

Blaine looked away from Craig to meet my eyes again, however, his gaze was different this time. Less playful and curious, and more . . . intense. Almost lustful. It held me on my barstool and refused to let me look away or even blink. It burned right into me, marking me in an uncanny way. His expression both disturbed and aroused me, and I couldn’t decide which I was more upset about.

“Well, first off,” he finally said, “she isn’t mulatto or even Hispanic. Look at her eyes . . . perfectly slanted and sexy. Soulful. And her hair . . . so dark and thick, slightly curled. Hair that beckons you to run your fingers through it from root to tip. Maybe even pull a little,” he smiled crookedly. “And then there’s the shape of her lips . . . how they dip and curve into a full pout. Lips that you can’t resist staring at for hours. Lips that beg to be kissed.”

Blaine chewed his bottom lip and narrowed his eyes, as they continued to scan every part of me that he had just so eloquently described. I was nearly dizzy from the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

“Asian. You’re part Asian, right?” he asked simply, no trace of seduction in his voice. His eyes no longer smoldered or emitted the fiery passion he had displayed just seconds before.

The switch in gears nearly made me fall flat on my face. Luckily, my roommate/girlfriend/savior strolled in and successfully diverted the attention from me. Every eye turned to witness the grand arrival of Angel Cassidy, dressed in too short cut-offs, a red tank that was suggestively torn and cut to reveal her plump breasts and lace-up black platform heels. She was the quintessential blonde bombshell that filled every guy’s fantasies. With her heart-shaped cherry lips, milky white skin and curves for days, she easily resembled a younger, edgier Marilyn Monroe.

I masked the disappointment of losing Blaine’s attention and gave Angel a wink. She strutted over to me, a hand on her hip, and gave me a wicked smile. She clutched the back of my head, tangled her fingers in my dark brown hair, and crushed her glossed lips to mine. A moan rumbled her chest as I pulled her body into mine.