I look back at his reflection to find him amused with my dilemma.
I cock an eyebrow and sass him before I run it through any filter, "Do you mind not checking out my ass?"
His eyes crinkle and a cute dimple appears on his cheek.Dammit! Dimples!
He chuckles, "Of course I mind. It's a nice ass."
Erogenous zones —activated.
I sigh, feigning indignation, as I turn my attention to the closest bartender, ten feet away, waving. Surely, I can get her attention.
"Well, enjoy the view, then. But you better not touch." I snap, behaving much more insulted than I feel.
He chuckles again but then joins me, leaning his forearms onto the bar. His massive shoulders and his bulging biceps brush mine—Hallelujah.
His deep, baritone voice rumbles in my ear. "I would never touch without permission."
I glance at his arm touching mine but deem it best not to be petty and challenge him. With one snap of his finger, Mr. Frowny Face would remove me. Besides, we both know what kind of touching he means.
Face to face, now, I cock an indignant eyebrow, "I won't be giving permission."
"Ha," slips out as a lazy smirk slides over those sculpted lips, and his right eyebrow twitches.
Dear lord! I'm "Hallelujahing" all over the place.
He lifts his hand, and the bartender instantly looks at him.
Of course, she would. Every woman in her right mind would look at him. I bet he's a big tipper.My eyes drop to his lips.And an excellent kisser.
"Let me buy your drink," he offers.
For some unknown reason, I stay stubborn to my feminism. "No, thank you!"
His eyes crinkle again, and that damn dimple pops out. "Not as a come-on to your fine ass, but in appreciation for the way you handled my rude behavior."
I blink back my surprise.What did he just say?Focusing on his face for clarity, I ignore the severe but sincere smirk he's wearing. "Pardon?"
"You didn't turn into a whore or a bitch. You handled my inability to stop myself from looking at your nice ass with grace and dignity. I appreciate a strong, independent woman. Please, let me buy you a drink."
Are you kidding me? A man with manners?
He might as well have deployed a taser and fired it at me. I'm that stunned. I search his eyes. His scornful description of how women actually respond to him makes me feel sympathy for him. It must be hard to be a man this beautiful.
I'm guilty as well. He activated my inner whore, and it's made me bitchy, having to deny her. But because I don't gripe, whine, or yell, thanks to my four brothers, my bitch language is snarky, sassy, and sarcastic.
Caught at a complete loss for words, all I manage to respond with as he gives up his barstool to me is, "Okay."
"What will you have?" He asks politely as he slides the stool under my legs.
I wiggle to slip off, giving him a for-real eyeful up my skirt.God, I hope my panties are dry and not soaked through.As I sit, I wiggle again, appearing to get comfortable, but really it's to soothe the tingling of my twat. "Two Crown Apples, please."
He cocks his eyebrow at me, making me laugh. "Karaoke courage." He chuckles again at my honesty. "I'm not taking advantage of your generosity, simply your command of the bartender's attention."
His smile is genuine as he nods acknowledgment, then looks at the bartender, who signals she'll be right there.
This man is who an author tries to describe to fill a reader's mind with how a perfect man should look and behave.I sigh, hoping I don't swoon being this close to him.
The bartender arrives, and he ordersthreeshots of Crown Apple. He looks at me and winks, "One for the nerves. Two for the courage. Three for the win."
