Glen: Sasha sent me a picture of you. I'd love to reschedule.
Glen: I'm free any night but Friday. Mom and I play Bridge.
I stare down as message after message comes through, my mouth dropping further with each one. He's got to be joking, but when the words don't magically change to say something else, a hysterical laugh bursts out of me. I pull up Sasha's thread, fingers flying over the screen.
Lily: Date bailed. Something about his mother's cat. Did you send him a PICTURE? What the hell, Sash!!
Sasha: Are you joking right now? I genuinely can't tell.
I send her a bunch of furious angry emojis, and then my phone rings in my hand. I lift it to my ear, griping, "Fucking hell, Sasha. I knew I shouldn't have trusted you. You couldn't even tell me what he did for a living."
She snorts, only sounding half-remorseful. "To be fair, I couldn't actually remember what he did. Something with pens, I think." A slight pause. "I'm a little scared to ask, but what's he doing with his mother's pussy?"
I'd just had a healthy gulp of wine, and I splutter it all over the bar. The bartender watches me with amusement before handing me a napkin and mopping the mess up.
“You okay?”
I look to the side, just as a man takes the stool next to me, my eyes clashing with concerned midnight-blue irises. He's tall—as tall as Declan—and his inky black hair is pushed carelessly back from his forehead.
"Gotta go," I whisper into the phone, and Sasha immediately starts protesting.
I fumble for the end call button, but it's too late, his eyebrows lifting as he hears her yelling through the speaker, "I want to hear more about the pussy!"
He rolls his lips inward, eyes gleaming with humor. "Interesting night, hm?"
I tuck my phone away, delicately dabbing at any wine still on my chin. "Uh," I flounder awkwardly, ignoring the stifled laugh the bartender makes. "I guess you could say that."
The guy looks at the bartender, ordering, "Whiskey, neat." A glance at the shelves behind the bar. "Macallan, if you have it." The bartender turns away to grab his drink and he rests his elbow on the bar, half-turning to face me. "Tell me about the pussy."
I glare at the bartender's back when she giggles, sucking in a breath through my teeth. He's still staring at me, and I can't help the laughter that finally bubbles out, humiliation heating my face.
"Oh my god..." I lift both hands, covering my cheeks with them to hide the redness. "It wasn't like that. We were talking about a cat. Like, a literal cat." He looks a little disappointed. "He, uh—I had a blind date, but he stood me up."
"For a cat?" His eyebrows climb his forehead, but then his eyes drop to trace over my body appreciatively. Self-consciously, I cross my legs and, as he tracks the movement, I take the opportunity to return his perusal, running my eyes over the hard angle of his clean-shaven jaw, the aquiline nose, and then down, noting the well-fitting suit that doesn't hide his trim figure. I touch my tongue to my bottom lip, tasting a drop of wine, and his eyes lock back on mine. The bartender puts his drink down in front of him, but he doesn't even look at her.
The corner of his mouth hooks up, and I realize I never answered his question. "Apparently, there was an emergency with, um, his mother's cat."
"You're kidding?" I shake my head, and he huffs out a laugh. "That's either a poorly thought out excuse, or a very well-thought out one."
"I'm leaning towards the former," I confide.
"Well, I guess his poor decision-making is to my benefit," he murmurs huskily. "I find myself alone tonight, and wouldn't mind some company." He dips his head, his eyes gleaming. "Let me buy you a drink." It's not exactly a question, and he's already looking at the bartender. "Another drink for the lady, please." He glances at me, leaning into my space and giving the illusion of privacy, as if it's just ushere. His cologne surrounds me, something spicy and masculine. "I can't leave a pretty lady sitting here without a drink, especially when the last one was wasted."
My cheeks flush again, but it's got nothing to do with embarrassment this time. "Thank you," I say. "Although it's not very gentlemanly of you to mention that."
"Never claimed to be a gentleman," he rejoins, his smile turning sharp as something predatory enters his dark eyes. "What's your name?"
I hold my hand out to him. "Lily."
"Caleb." He clasps my fingers with his, but doesn't shake it. Instead, he turns my hand and lifts it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to my knuckles, and my stomach swoops. "A pleasure to meet you, Lily."
Trying to hide my reaction to him, I tug my hand free.
Not fazed by my reticence, he asks, "So, Lily. Why a blind date?"
Just like that, the conversation switches into something easy and casual, our banter flirty enough that my cheeks are permanently flushed. It's a shock when I check my phone and realize three hours have passed, as well as two more glasses of wine.
I know it’s time to go and I tell him so, watching as he drops his chin, looking at me through black lashes. "Or, we could get a room," he suggests, twisting a strand of my hair around his finger.
