Chapter Two #2
“I’m sure it’s just a mistake,” I said gently. “Do you want me to pay the bill for now?”
Her eyes widened and she quickly shook her head. “No way,” she said, looking even more embarrassed. “I don’t want you to pay the bill on your birthday. This was going to be my treat.”
“I know,” I said, placing a hand on her arm. “But really, Becca, it’s not a big deal. If you’re that worried about it, you can pay me back later, okay?”
She hesitated, pride clearly warring with practicality before she sighed. “Okay, fine. But I will pay you back.”
We returned to the table long enough to take our shots. Whitney lifted hers, eyes sparkling. “To Morgan!”
“To Morgan!” everyone echoed, their voices overlapping in laughter.
The Fireball’s cinnamon burn slid down my throat, warm and sweet, chasing away the last traces of work stress and old heartbreak. “I’ll be right back.” I set my empty glass down and grabbed my purse.
I headed to the bar to settle the bill, weaving through the crowd. The DJ had just taken a break, so people from the dance floor were gathering around, trying to grab fresh drinks before the music started again.
I slid into an open space at the end of the bar, sandwiched between a couple who couldn’t keep their hands off each other and a man who looked overdressed for a random bar.
His tuxedo jacket hung on the back of his bar stool.
His crisp white shirt was open at the throat, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and his black tie hung loose around his neck.
His dark brown hair was thick and styled back off his forehead, and the faintest shadow of stubble darkened his jaw.
He was sexy as hell and looked like trouble in the best possible way. And when his eyes flicked toward me, skimming me from head to toe, it felt like a physical touch. My skin tingled everywhere his intense gaze lingered.
“Can I help you?” the bartender asked, jolting me out of my daze.
I pulled my eyes away from the gorgeous, formally dressed man. “Uh, yes. My friend just tried to pay our tab and had a little trouble—”
“I took care of that,” a smooth, deep, masculine voice said from beside me.
I turned back to Mr. Tuxedo in surprise. “What?”
“I paid the woman’s tab,” he said easily. “She looked upset, so I told the bartender to put it on my card.”
The bartender gave a quick nod of confirmation. “Your bill is paid in full,” he said, before moving down the bar to take a drink order.
“Oh.” I blinked at the man, shocked by his random generosity. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
He gave a slight shrug, the movement drawing my attention to the strong line of his shoulders. “It’s not a big deal.”
His smile reached his eyes, warm and disarming. They were a mesmerizing copper color, and I wanted to stare into them endlessly. I also didn’t miss the genuine interest in his gaze as he stared back.
And just like that, something fluttered in my chest. The kind of instantaneous spark I’d been telling Whitney I wanted to feel.
“It is a big deal,” I said, trying to sound composed even as my pulse sped up. “That tab was probably huge. Let me pay you back.”
The couple beside us moved away from the bar, freeing up a stool. He gestured toward the now vacant seat with an inviting, flirtatious smile. “How about you have a drink with me instead. Then, we’ll call it even.”
It wasn’t a question. Not quite. But the way he said it—calm, certain, like he already knew I’d say yes—sent a little thrill through me.
I should have hesitated. Should have at least thought about it for more than half a second. But Whitney’s voice echoed in my head. Maybe if you stopped expecting fireworks right away, you’d give someone a real chance.
Except I was feeling a spark. The second his eyes met mine, there had been no doubt in my mind that the awareness between us had been mutual.
Maybe Whitney and I were both right. I needed to open myself up to new experiences with men without over-analyzing the situation, but it didn’t hurt that I felt such an immediate connection with this gorgeous man who’d just offered to buy me a drink.
He was confident and direct and left the choice entirely up to me. I could say no, thank him again for covering our tab, and walk away. Go back to my friends and spend the rest of the night wondering what if.
Or I could stay and see where things might lead.
My heart gave a decisive thump, making the decision for me.
“I’d love to,” I said, sliding onto the stool next to him.
His gaze followed the movement, tracking the way my dress rode up slightly as I settled onto the seat, then along the curve of my waist, the fullness of my breasts, and even the sway of my hair as I settled in.
When his eyes finally came back to mine, there was an unmistakable heat and desire there that made it impossible to remember what I’d just said, because I felt it, too.
With that one look, the night shifted, thick with the kind of anticipation that made the air hum with promise, along with the certainty that whatever this was, it wasn’t going to be just another drink.
What better way to end my birthday celebration than by tempting fate with the sinfully good-looking man beside me?