And that did it.
I blushed at the precise instant my eyes drifted over the crest of his legs. He noticed. Figured. The last thing I wanted was to look like some crazy crotch-wench in this kind of club.
His shirt was a much safer place for my gaze, except the crimson material stretched neatly over a chest harder than the rock sitting in my stomach. I thought the guys in these places were supposed to be decrepit? An early retiree in the midst of his mid-life crisis brandishing a clearance-rack leash from PetSmart.
My sources were dead wrong.
“Having fun?” He said.
My heel slipped off the stool. I caught myself before my chin collided with the bar. He steadied me, grasping my elbow within his large hand.
He expected an answer. And a voice like that—a melody more appealing than anything the jazz ensemble played—deserved an answer. He hadn’t released my arm, but I wasn’t going anywhere. My bones melted and puddled on the imported floor tile the instant he spoke.
Unfortunately, my throat closed over a chunk of sticky peach lodged somewhere between my tongue and the last shred of my dignity. A sexy half-cough, half chortle might have sounded great, but I decided silence was the best recourse for the only girl in a cotton sundress in the ocean of second-skin leather skirts. A demure nod. A quick clearing of my throat. A guzzle of the peach-tini.
And there was the -tini. Great.
“Are you meeting someone?” he asked.
And now he laughed at me. A dozen responses flitted though my mind. The first was an honest God, I hope so. The second was a recurring—I really need my arm back. I raised my eyes to his.
He was older than I thought. Maybe early to mid-thirties, but no gray touched his dark hair. He wore it long, almost chin length, pulled back into a half pony-tail framing his stubble-dusted jaw into strong edges.
His complexion was darker, and his nose a sculpted angle. Mediterranean? I always wanted to take a trip to Europe. And there was my instant-vacation, leaning toward me, without even a cursory pat down from the TSA.
He released my arm with a light brush over my skin. A million goose bumps followed.
My glass tinked back onto the bar. I swallowed any frilly vibrato in my voice. His eyes fixed over me.
Wasn’t it rude to stare?
Wasn’t it equally rude to linger in silence like a tongue-twisted invalid who enjoyed the umbrella in her drink more than the liquor?
He spoke only to tease me. “This isn’t your normal night out.”
“No,” I said.
His lips mocked me with a dire smile. “No, you don’t belong here. No, you aren’t meeting anyone. Or no, this isn’t your normal night out?”
“Yes.”
Oh, Christ. I sipped the last few golden drops of my drink while hiding my flushing cheeks. Might as well trip out of the bar and let my skirt fly over my head. If I found some spinach to stuff between my front teeth my every nightmare would play out in the middle of a fetish bar.
And yet, my mysterious stranger smiled. Just a hint, but infinitely more controlled than my humble freak out. Better to have him think I was playing coy than deliver the actual truth.
I had no idea how to talk to a man like this.
We—well, wherever Suzi and Leah happened to be—planned to come to Duchess for a laugh. He was here legitimately. He belonged here. And he was talking to me. Leaning over with biceps straining against the fabric of his shirt and shoulders that formed a barrier between me and the safety of the exit.
The bartender set a drink before him. A gin and tonic. He hadn’t ordered it and he still got the drink a hell of a lot quicker than I was given mine.
“What’s your name?” His dark eyes blended with the effortless baritone of his voice.
We planned to be Polly, Dolly, and Molly, but I suffered enough.
“Morgan.”
“Good evening, Morgan.”
His eyes dipped over me again. I straightened my shoulders, but I remained a speck of blonde on the bar next to him.
He didn’t say anything else. His evening washed over me. I had nothing in my arsenal as smooth. Not even a did you know that’s not really a trumpet in the band? It’s a cornet, and I think it sounds snazzy. As if on cue, the sadistic quartet switched to a different song. Something tragically mellow that fostered the silence.
I remembered this being easier back when I was still enrolled in college. I couldn’t sit at the bar without some fraternity pledge offering to buy me Natty Lights on his parent’s semester allowance. But my stranger was no overeager kid looking for an easy score. He toyed with me—waiting for me to either run away or drown in my drink. Two could play that game.
“So.” I leaned back to get a better look at my companion. He welcomed the intrusion, meeting my stare with a raised chin. Proud and vain. He could be trouble. “Come here often, stranger?”
He chuckled. The pressure in my chest eased.
I tugged the edges of my dress down, closer to my knee. He studied the movement, and my fingers dug into the material. I didn’t want him thinking I meant for the hem to creep up. Or that I panicked if I revealed a little skin. Or that I did or didn’t want him looking at my skin. Oh, God, I was overthinking a freaking skirt.
I knew I should have worn leggings.
“My name’s Anthony.”
“Evening, Anthony.”
He cracked a smirk.
Huh. Maybe I was better at the game than I thought. My cell chirped. I checked the text and groaned. Suzi was my own personal town-crier, but she only ever gave bad news.
Sorry hon. Crisis at work, and Leah’s baby has a fever. Another time?
Another time. This was our other time, making up for two almost-nights out. Suzi’s office did more work after 5:00 than seemed legal, and Leah’s baby was a crawling petri-dish.
My mother’s voice echoed in my head. Do something with your life. Go back to school. Meet a man.
I let the text go unanswered. Where had the degree and wedding band landed my friends? Suzi worked every night till seven and still needed a roommate to cover the rent, and Leah’s baby had colic, croup, and teething issues. She hadn’t slept a full night in a year and fought with her husband every second she was awake.
No thanks.
Anthony waited while I twirled the straw in my empty glass into a crumpled mess.
“Would you like another?” he asked.
I looked up. The bartender awaited my order. I shook my head and jiggled the phone.
“No thanks. Something came up.”
The bartender nodded. Anthony motioned, and, before I could argue, he paid my tab.
“Let me guess,” he said. “Friends chickened out?”
I set the phone back on the bar. Traitorous thing.
“I knew they weren’t going to make it,” I said.
“But you came anyway.”
My shrug was half-hearted. “This beats half-priced soggy wings at our usual hangout.”
“No wings here.”
“Nothing’s half-priced either.”
Another smile. His lips curled over a flash of white teeth. The pale light of the bar shadowed his strong nose and hardened jaw. But his eyes layered in darkness, like a splash of ink across a canvas. For a second, I was glad my friends flaked out on me. They had responsibilities and family. I had a ridiculously attractive guy offering to buy me a drink.
Maybe the night wouldn’t be so bad.
Then again...
My eyes followed the stairs to the secret second floor. The bar was normal enough. Expensive drinks and jazz music. A pair of gothic couples giggled in the corner and a few women danced in slinky dresses and avoided the men trying too hard to buy them a drink. I spotted the occasional collar around a neck, but so far the club looked as PG as anything near the college campuses.
Except for Anthony.
He cornered me without even trying. I crossed my legs and hoped my straightened posture would give me more confidence. It didn’t. I looked smaller than ever. Examined. Pinned like a gimpy butterfly in some biology project making frantic small-talk about the differences between cool and smooth jazz.