Chapter 2 Whiskey Looks Good On You - Avery
The man across the bar looked exactly like the type of clientele I was used to being around. Sharp clothes, whiskey neat, fancy black watch that probably cost more than a car, and a card so heavy in his wallet you could run it over and it would still be in prime condition.
Lifting the amber liquid to my nose, I took a whiff. Vanilla, oak, and spice flowed through my senses. The smell rich and the taste smooth when it hit the back of my throat. It didn’t burn like the cheap whiskey I’d been used to. It tasted just how I imagined he would.
Before I set my glass down, I raised it to the man across from me, a simple gesture, but not one that said I would be making the first move.
He returned the motion, taking a sip of his own, never breaking eye contact with me.
His dark eyes lasered deep into mine, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a thick swallow, and his tongue poking out to lick the drop he’d left behind from his lips.
You could cut the sexual tension with a knife.
When the wealthy looking man stood up, pushing his seat in, my heart began to race.
For a while now, I’d been used to being around men that demanded attention in any room they walked into, but it was different with him.
As he walked toward me, he demanded my attention and no one else’s.
His gaze was set on me, and for the first time in a very long time, I was nervous.
Shoving that feeling down, I put on a face that screamed confident. I wasn’t going to show him that he had the ability to make my knees weak in just the first few moments of eye fucking each other from across the bar.
The smell of cigarette smoke wafting around the bar faded away the closer his musky cedarwood scent moved toward me.
He was all man.
Now towering over me, I drank in the smell of him when his deep voice rumbled in a way that I felt it all the way down to my toes. “Whiskey looks good on you.”
Leaning on the bar, his tattooed forearm was completely exposed from his white button up, the ink spreading all the way down to his fingers. His inked-up arms were so thick the veins popped out from the grip he had around his glass.
Fuck.
My mouth went dry.
Seeing the dark watch wrapped around his wrist was the slight reminder I needed to run. It was too late to entertain this man on my night off. But his appearance alone made the hair on my arms stand straight.
I shouldn’t. Then again … we were in the city meant for sinning.
“Care to elaborate?” I turned my body, inviting the conversation.
“Women who can handle the sweet burn of a bourbon such as this one,” he took a sip from his crystal glass, “are typically independent, smart, intriguing, and willing to take a risk.”
“You believe I’m all of those things based on a drink choice?” I challenged him.
“You’re drinking alone, are you not?”
Touché.
“I was.” I stared into his eyes, unable to look away. “For all of five minutes after my friends left.”
“Independent. Check. Do you like the taste?” His fingers roamed along the coarseness of his beard as he rattled off his next question.
“It’s top shelf, how could I not?” My eyes narrowed, catching on to the ways he’d studied me from the other side of the bar.
“Smart woman.” He winked.
“You haven’t told me your name yet.”
“And neither have you.”
I looked him up and down, not hiding my perusal.
“Keeping your name from me. It’s fucking intriguing. A mystery.” He took another sip of his drink, and when his eye contact didn’t stray from mine, I swore the heat from his gaze lit me up and melted my insides.
“I see. And how am I taking a risk?” I asked, his final point lingering in the air.
“You’ve taken many. You’re here talking with me; a stranger you don’t know anything about.
You took a chance on whatever I was drinking instead of falling back on what you were sipping from a martini glass just moments ago.
” His eyes dipped down to my chest. “This top you’re wearing, risky.
” His tongue poked out to lick his lips.
Was I really going to entertain chatting it up with a stranger who’d just let his eyes linger on my tits?
Fuck it.
“Well, stranger, maybe I am feeling a little risky tonight.” He bought me a drink, walked over to me, and sparked up a conversation. The least I could do was meet him halfway, right?
“What do you say we top off these drinks and move over to a booth for more privacy?” I added, feeling risky.
“Call me Spencer.” His lips lifted into a smirk as he held his hand up to get Colton’s attention. “Another round, please.”
“Whatever you say, Daddy.” Colton winked, and I looked between them with my eyebrows raised at the term of endearment.
Spencer’s smirk fell, his jaw hardening. “Why do I have to call you Spencer, but he gets to call you Daddy?”
“He doesn’t. But play your cards right and you never know what might happen.
” Spencer snagged both of our drinks, guiding us to a dimly lit corner with a round booth and tiny cocktail table.
It wasn’t until I hopped off my barstool that I realized just how tall he was, even with me wearing heels he still towered over me.
We sat with plenty of space between us, yet the booth still felt like it was our own little world. With his arm curved around the top of the smooth red leather, his fingertips were only inches from my shoulder.
“You know my name. Now, I’m dying to know yours.”
“Let’s see how the rest of the night goes, then maybe I’ll consider giving you my name.” I didn’t have anything to hide, but the little game of it all was thrilling.
“So, you’re saying if I pass your test and check your boxes that you’ll reward me with your name?” Bourbon in hand, he crossed his leg, resting his ankle on the opposite knee.
“Essentially. Being a woman in Las Vegas can be dangerous. I can’t give away the one thing that’s mine before I figure out if I can trust someone or not.”
“Once again, you’re a smart woman. Mind if I ask how old you are?” The question didn’t come off as rude. There was an obvious age gap between us, and I didn’t blame him for wondering.
To be honest, I was wondering the same about him.
“I’m twenty-four.” Pausing for a moment, I waited for his reaction.
Would my age be a problem for him?
“I have a son your age.” His sudden omission had my eyes darting to his ring finger. Son? Was he married? Was I being a homewrecker right now?
I’d met a lot of filthy men, and I didn’t know this guy. He could be just like the rest of them.
“I can see the worry written all over your face. To answer the question that I assume is swirling through your mind right now … No, I’m not some sleazy married man.
I have one kid, and I didn’t find out about him until later in life.
So, our relationship is a bit different than you would expect the typical father-son bond to be like. ”
“Does it bother you that I’m your son’s age?”
“I’m still sitting here, aren’t I?”
My shoulders dropped, my mind easing knowing that Spencer was just a hot single dad, and not at all like the type of men that hired me on a weekly basis.
“You are. So, if you have a son my age, how old does that make you?”
“Forty. Does that bother you?” He took a confident swig of his drink.
“Not at all.” I always imagined I’d end up with someone around my age, my ex-boyfriend to be specific. But when our relationship went down the drain, and I had to open my eyes to this new lifestyle, age became nothing but a number for me when it came to talking to men.
“Cheers.” Spencer lifted his glass, tapping it against mine as we both took another sip. After a couple of espresso martinis, and now my second glass of whiskey, my mind was loose, my blood running warm, craving more attention from this man by the minute.
“What do you do for work, Bella?”
“Bella? What makes you think that’s my name?” My eyebrows crinkled, clearly caught off guard.
“Bella means pretty in Italian. You haven’t given me your name yet, so forgive me for making up my own. It seemed fitting.” My cheeks heated at his compliment.
“I’m a cocktail waitress at one of the pools on the Strip.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either—I needed both of my jobs.
Working as an escort made dating a literal nightmare. It was the kind of job that made casual dating almost impossible. Giving that part of myself away to him wouldn’t be necessary, assuming this was a one-night thing. Just good conversation and a few expensive drinks.
Being in the industry that I was in, it was easy to harbor inferior feelings. Clearly, he was a wealthy man, and I’d just been trying to get by.
“If you tell me you work at the Wynn, I’m going to be pissed that I’ve somehow missed you every single time I’ve gone.”
My lips curved into a smile. “I do work at the Wynn, how dare you not notice me.” I gasped sarcastically.
“You’re not kidding, are you?” He shook his head.
“Nope.” I hid my smile behind my amber liquid.
“I have a photographic memory. I know for a damn fact that if you were my waitress, I wouldn’t have forgotten. Clients of mine invite me all the time to party with them there. When you tell me your name, I’ll make sure they request you every time.”
“That’s sweet, thank you.”
He nodded. A few moments of silence passed. We both sipped from our drinks, becoming dizzier in lust by the second.
“What kind of clients of yours party at the pool? Are you some hot shot CEO or something?”
“Not quite. I work with athletes.” Something told me he was humble when it came to his money.
Clearly, he had it—a lot of it. But he wasn’t like most men that I knew who boasted about their work.
Afterall, he was at this piece of shit bar that most men in head-to-toe Armani wouldn’t be caught dead in.
“Based on the fancy clothes, I don’t take you as an athletic trainer.”
He chuckled. “You’re correct about that. Do you know who Jayson Jennings is?”
“How could I not? His name is plastered all over the Strip. The locals around here go crazy for hockey, which never actually made sense to me living in the desert.” Propping my elbow on the booth, I rested my chin in my hand.
The feeling of talking to a complete stranger was oddly more comfortable than it should’ve been.
Was it the booze? Or was it this man and all his alpha energy?
“Yeah, well, that idiot is my best friend.” He chuckled. “But I also work for him and a lot of his friends. I’m a sports agent.”
“Sexy.” The word slipped out; the buzz clearly getting to my head.
Definitely the booze.
A smirk ticked up the sides of Spencer’s mouth as he inched closer to me, his fingers reaching to tuck a strand of hair away from my eyes. “Tell me, Bella, what’s your type?”
“Tall, dark, and tattooed.” My teeth tugged on my bottom lip, my attraction for him only growing stronger.
“Looks like I’m checking some of your boxes, maybe I’m getting closer to knowing your name.” His finger dropped from my hair, his touch lingering on my skin as he traced the fine lines of the vines I had tattooed on the inside of my wrist.
“Maybe.” I smirked. “Do you have a type?”
“Bright eyes, independent, striking in every sense.” I was getting to the point of not knowing if it was just the alcohol, or if this man’s age gave him enough experience to know the perfect thing to say to a woman to make her melt.
“You’re dangerous, Spencer.”
“I could say the same about you.” When he crept closer, I pulled my glass to my lips, finishing off the little bit of whiskey I had left.
“I should get going. It’s getting late and I have an early shift tomorrow.” If I stayed, I truly feared I’d tell this man every one of my secrets.
“Can I walk you out?” His respect for my request to leave was a level of maturity I wasn’t used to. Normally, men my age begged me not to leave, hoping the more they’d liquor me up, the higher chance they’d have at taking me home.
“Yeah, that would be nice.” I pulled my phone from my clutch, ordering an Uber before we walked out.
With his spicy aroma beside me, he opened the heavy wooden door, the warm summer night air hitting us in the face.
“I’d love to see you again.” We turned to face each other; the words I dreaded lingering between us.
Tonight was amazing. A night unlike others I’d experienced. It wasn’t a planned date. It didn’t feel forced; it just happened. It was comfortable and warm. Being around him was sexy and mysterious in ways I couldn’t explain.
It was everything I wanted to repeat but couldn’t. Not while I was making money by entertaining other men. Men he probably ran in the same circle as.
“I had a lot of fun.” I settled on.
“So much fun that you’re willing to give me your name?” His hand reached for my hair, combing it behind my ear. He didn’t drop his fingers. Instead, they lingered, weaving their way through my dark strands and behind my neck.
“Avery,” I said in a low whisper.
If I couldn’t see him again, the least I could do to thank him for his company was give him my name.
“Avery,” he leaned down to my ear, whispering as the headlights to my ride pulled up, “if an official first date is meant to happen, I’m sure I’ll run into you again.
” The stubble from his beard brushed along my skin as his lips pressed lightly against my cheek, ripping away too quickly for my liking.
Spencer opened the back door, allowing me to slide in before leaning into the driver’s side window. “Cancel her ride, don’t charge her a thing and get her home safe,” he told the driver as he slipped him a folded up one-hundred-dollar bill.
Backing away from the car, he slid his hands into his pockets. “Bye, Bella,” fell from his lips, only making me wish I could have tasted his words without knowing I’d want more.