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I barely resist the urge to squirm under his scrutiny, feeling both naked and excited next to him, but despite my better judgment, I lean against the bar as well, so close to him that his cologne floods my senses.
He’s a sight to behold: the firmness of his torso, the way his shirt clings to him, highlighting the muscles beneath. I glance down at his rough and calloused hands, wondering how it would feel to be caressed by them.
“That’s not my style.”
Smooth talker.
"Vodka soda. Just to make things clear, this is not a date."
He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that sends a shiver down my spine. "You keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. So, what about that name?”
"That would spoil the fun, don't you think?"
He tilts his head, and the look he shoots me could make icebergs melt.
"Are you saying I'm supposed to earn it?"
"Maybe, but I'm not easily won over, just so you know."
The way he stares at me then, the fierceness in those icy blue eyes that never seem to leave mine, makes me wonder if I’m making a mistake. Why am I flirting with him, baiting his attention with this silly little banter? There’s such intensity there, such drive; it’s both intimidating and exhilarating all at once.
“I love a good challenge, little lady. So count me in whatever little game you're playing here."
His husky voice sends a shiver down my spine, and I have to remind myself to stay focused. This is just a game, a little flirtation to pass the time. I can't let myself get swept away by his charm, no matter how tempting it might be.
"Maybe it would be easier for you just to go out to the dance floor and find a girl dying to have a fun night with a big celebrity."
"I have a feeling you're worth the fight. I'll take my chances."
My heart pounds in my chest, and I try to ignore the way my stomach flips at his words. Getting involved with a guy like Grayson is dangerous territory, especially after my past experiences with fighters. He's got a reputation, and I'm nowhere near willing to be someone's temporary arm candy.
Before I can respond, our drinks arrive, and Grayson flashes the bartender a smile as he slips him a generous tip. He hands me my vodka soda, and I take a small sip, trying to steady my racing heart.
He takes a sip of his whiskey, raising a brow as if trying to read what hides behind the mask of composure I'm trying to maintain. I can't help but feel a sense of vulnerability as he towers over me, so tall, so broad-shouldered... so mighty.
The truth of the matter is that I've always had a soft spot for guys like him, and that's gotten me into situations I never want to go back to.
"Do you always party like it's your job?" I ask, and it seems I've lost my ability to stop bantering even if I try.
"Only when the mood strikes. You should consider yourself lucky that I decided to come here tonight. You would never have met me if I hadn't."
"Ha!" I chuckle but make a point of rolling my eyes and nudging him with my elbow to show he's not impressing me with these lines. "You really think that highly of yourself, don't you?"
"Why shouldn't I? I've got the looks and the skills to back it up."
"Looks can be deceiving, you know. I've seen plenty of pretty faces that turn out to be nothing but empty shells."
"You don't think I'm one of those. If you did, you would have brushed me off already."
I can't hold back a sheepish smile at his reply. He's got me there…maybe.
"I suppose you could say I'm a tiny bit intrigued."
"Intrigued enough to let me put a name to that gorgeous face of yours?"
I meet his stare, and for a moment, it's like we're both sizing each other up, trying to gauge the other's intentions. There's a spark of chemistry between us, and I can't help but wonder where it might lead.
"Alright," I say, breaking the tension before it can reach a boiling point. "My name is Tyley. Tyley Evans.”
