Foreplay (The Ivy Chronicles #1)(6)

Sliding into single file, we held hands as we squeezed through the press of bodies. I ended up in the middle, a deliberate move on Emerson’s and Georgia’s part I’m sure. Guys tried to talk to us as we pushed past. Emerson smiled, calling hello back to a few of them.

“Hey, Red,” one called to me, sandwiching between me and Emerson. I had to look down at him. He barely reached my chin.

I started to stammer out a hello when Emerson backed up and looked him over. “Red? Really? You lose points for originality. C’mon, Pepper.” With a tug on my wrist, she pulled me after her. “See. Not five minutes here and you’re already getting hit on.”

I rolled my eyes.

“He’s not what we’re aiming for, but no worry. The night’s still young. We haven’t found who we’re looking for yet.” Emerson pointed at the bar. “Why don’t you get us a pitcher? We’ll get a table.”

I craned my head to look around. “How are you going to find a table in this zoo?”

Emerson gave me an insulted look. “Oh, we’ll get a table. Leave it to me.”

“Here.” Georgia thrust some money in my hand. “First pitcher’s on me.”

“The only pitcher. We don’t need to buy our own drinks.” Emerson shook her head like we both had much to learn and motioned for me to move on toward the bar. “Go on. And while you’re there keep an eye out for you-know-who.”

I watched as they disappeared into the throng, convinced now that the whole point of sending me to the bar was for me to scope out the player bartender we’d come here looking for. I worked my way through the crush, wading through bodies until I stood in line behind a pair of giggling girls.

“Yeah, that’s him,” a bleached blonde said to her friend. “Lydia said he was hot, but OMG . . . that’s putting it mildly.”

Her friend fanned herself. “If he would mess around with Lydia, he’s going to think he hit the lottery with us.”

Who talked about themselves like that? I couldn’t help myself. A laugh escaped me. I slapped a hand over my mouth.

The dark-haired girl glared over her shoulder at me. I quickly dropped my hand and tried to look innocent, angling my neck as though I was impatient to place my drink order and not eavesdropping.

The blonde slapped her arm. “You’re so bad, Gina.”

Gina returned her attention to her friend. “Well, hopefully I’ll get to be bad with him tonight. I call dibs.” She waved a ten-dollar bill, clearly trying to gain the bartender’s attention.

I shook my head, regretting every time I’d ever judged Emerson for her lack of inhibitions. Compared to these two she was a Girl Scout. Clearly they were discussing my bartender. Wait. When did he become mine? I winced. From the sound of it, he belonged to every female that passed through Mulvaney’s doors.

I reminded myself that I would not be hooking up with anyone tonight . . . especially a bartender with a reputation for swapping DNA with the entire female population of Dartford. Thanks, but no. I couldn’t imagine myself with someone so undiscriminating. I had standards. There was no way I could contemplate messing around with someone like that. Even if it was to gain some much-needed experience to win over Hunter.

And then I saw him.

The air froze in my lungs. He stepped up in front of the two girls, bracing his arms against the bar top. I heard his voice, low and deep, over the steady drone of the bar. “What can I get for you?”

I gawked, unable to blink. I had an unobstructed view of him in the space between the girls. The blood rushed in my ears, and suddenly it was last night all over again and I was on a lonely stretch of country road, the acrid smoke of my overheating car filling my nostrils as I stared at his familiar face. That dark blond hair cut close to his head. The tall, lean body that had bent over the engine of my car less than twenty-four hours ago. I could see him even more clearly now, but I hadn’t been mistaken in my initial assessment. He was hot. His jaw square and strong. His features like something chiseled from marble. There was a shadowy hint of stubble on his face, and his eyes were so piercing a blue they looked almost silver.

He looked just a few years older than me. I could see that now. It was probably the way he held himself. Experienced. Capable. He wore a well-worn cotton T-shirt with MULVANEY’S stretched across one of his impressive pecs. Dimly I wondered if his shirt felt as soft as it looked. If his chest was as solid.

The girls were tittering like seventh-graders now. Gawking at him, too. I felt like someone sucker punched me. My rescuer. My bartender. Mulvaney’s man-whore. One and the same.

“What can I get you?” he repeated.

“What’s good?” Gina propped her elbows on the bar, no doubt flashing him some of her cleavage.

He rattled off the various beers on tap like he had done it a hundred times before, which he probably had. His gaze slid the length of the bar as he talked, assessing the crowd.

“Hmm. What’s your favorite?” Gina called.

Shaking his head, he looked back down at her. “Look, I’ll come back to you when you make up your mind.” His eyes snapped over them to me. “What’ll you have?”

My mouth parted, surprised that he was addressing me, that he dismissed them so easily. Just like that. And when they were flirting with him no less.

His eyes narrowed with recognition. “Hey. You.” He nodded slightly at me. “How’s the car?”