Chapter 2
POV: Abby?
And he sat down right in front of me—like directly in front of me.
His eyes never left mine and I felt like I lost the ability to speak properly, but eventually mustered the courage up to say something simple.
“Hi.”
God, Abby, you’re such a little girl. All you thought up after staring at this practical god of a man was hi?
I tried to fake a confident smile. But my smile faltered as he stared at me without even speaking a word.
“What can I get you?” I finally asked.
His brown cold eyes never left mine, then finally his lips twitched as he spoke, “You’re the bartender?”
I didn’t expect that. So I went into a spiral of nervous stuttering, “well—I—I see you’re local then.”
“I haven’t seen you before around here,” he replied, his eyes slowly studying me, tracking across from my face—first my nose then steadying on my lips then lower to my collarbone then to my boobs.
Was he actually checking me out and not discreetly but obviously and slowly?
That unsettled me even further.
Still, I straightened my shoulders and took a breath in. “Well, I’m from here.”
“Oh are you?” he asked, his gaze never changing.
“I take it you’re new in town. Here to play cowboy?” I wanted to roll my eyes but refrained.
He laughed slightly, as he propped his arm against the top of his chair and looked me over once more.
And I could swear the hair on my arms was standing up from all of this…tension.
Finally, he nodded, folding his arms against his chest. “I’ll take a bourbon, neat.”
And now I was the one checking him out now.
If you could see the way his biceps constricted in that coat then you would too.
I’ve never seen a man that…built.
I dragged my gaze up to his, and realized he clearly noticed my preoccupation with his body because a noticeable smirk was painted on his lips.
I nodded, quickly turning away from him and reaching up on my tip toes for the finest bourbon we had.
If he wanted to act like an asshole, then I’d charge him like one.
“Top shelf,” I heard him murmur.
“Only the best for new ranch owners!” I teased, not looking back and pouring him a hefty glass.
When my gaze finally met his, the tension nearly toppled me over. I could tell he had to have been staring at my ass…and I liked it, in fact I invited it, he was just that good looking and there was just something about him that screamed, that’s a man.
Maybe it was his calloused hands, or maybe it was the way he didn’t flirt with me with anything but his eyes, or maybe it was the fact that he looked like knew his way around a woman’s body.
“Are you even old enough to work here?” he asked as I set down the bourbon neat in front of him.
“Just because I gave you a large pour doesn’t mean I’m under 21,” I laughed. “I’m 22 but I’m sure you can’t be that much older.” That was my subtle way of finding out how old he was, hopefully he’d bite.
His eyes traced my face over again—reading me—studying me—who knows. “I’m much older than you.”
And he said that like it was warning.
Then he finally said the number I was dying to hear. “36.”
I nodded, not finding the words to respond.
He smirked, almost as if it’s the response he expected.
“I’m Abby,” I said, almost stumbling over my words.
I was acting like I was some wholesome virgin here.
I slept with guys before, sure, and I orgasmed before. But I’ve never been with a man like him—rugged, rough around the edges, eerily quiet, composed, and who sent shivers down my spine.
He was confident, established and older—much older than the twenty-something’s I’ve been with, who thought sex was 5 pumps and done then ordered us taco bell and whined about their hangover the next day.
“Cole.” Not a smile. Not even a smirk. Instead he just stared at me as if he could read my soul.
“Well, nice to meet you Cole, but I’ve got to get going.”
“So soon?”
“I had a long trip back home.” I didn’t want to leave but if it’s one thing I learned with men, it’s to leave them with more questions than when you were there. “Bye, Cole.” I didn’t turn to look at him as I grabbed my purse and slung it around my shoulder.
But something inside me just knew, he was staring at me as I walked towards the kitchen and shut the door behind me.
I hurriedly hugged my dad goodbye then slipped out the backdoor, even though I had to walk all around the building to my front parking space.
And as I slipped inside of my car and glanced into the window, all I could see was the outline of Cole’s muscular frame.
I could picture his brown eyes in front of me again—watching me, studying me, trying to shake me with his cool but steady gaze.
And all I could think about was what it felt like to be kissed by a man like that.