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S E V E N
- Maeve -
“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who sends Christmas cards.”
“No?” he asked, feigning surprise.
“It’s not the kind of thing people who hate people usually do.”
His brow furrowed. “How many people haters do you know?”
My pursed lips pulled to one side. “Hard to say. I suspect most of them don’t advertise the fact.”
He tilted his beer to his lips, and I swallowed as he drank, wondering what it was about him that piqued my curiosity so much. Perhaps it was how different he was from the men I knew professionally. From his V-neck T-shirt to his strong, musician’s forearms, he was practically another species. And there was something about the double wave in his thick hair, how soft it looked compared to his scratchy stubble. There was no way I knew him, yet there was something familiar about him I couldn’t put my finger on.
There was also something undeniably magnetic about his unassuming confidence, which was probably a side effect of his musicianship. It wasn’t something I picked up playing flute in my high school marching band, unfortunately, but there was no refuting that he was comfortable in his skin in a way I envied.
What would it be like, I wondered, to live like he did? Playing music. Drinking beer. Could he possibly be as casual in real life as he seemed right now? I wondered if he had greater ambitions than playing music in his friend’s pub, or if he was happy to strum and sip and dote on his dog. It seemed too personal a question, though, and he’d already caught me staring at him once.
“So,” I asked. “Making any resolutions for next year?”
He looked at me like I’d asked if he enjoyed sliced mango on his pizza. “I don’t believe in that crap.”
“What? Self-improvement?”
“No. Self-improvement, I get,” he said. “It’s the Gregorian calendar I don’t respect.”
My eyes popped wide.
“If I need to make a change in my life, I make a change. Period.”
“How disciplined of you.” I took a sip of my Scotch, my silver bracelets falling down my arm.
“No offense, if you’re into that kind of thing.” His blue eyes dropped to my lips when I licked them. “What about you?”
I don’t know if I felt bold because of the Scotch or because I knew I’d never see this guy again. Or maybe it was the fact that he seemed so non-judgmental I was tempted to try and shock him. Whatever provoked me, my mother would’ve fainted if she’d heard what came out of my mouth next. “My goal is to find someone suitable to knock me up.”
He choked on his beer and brought a hand to his mouth, coughing against his fist.
I smiled, pleased with myself for being so unpredictable.
He angled towards me. “Define ‘suitable’?”
I scowled at him, but I was secretly flattered by the question.
“Seriously.”
“You don’t want to know,” I said, dismissing his interest with a flick of my wrist.
“Sure, I do.” Amusement buoyed his expression. “Or I wouldn’t have asked.”
I looked in his eyes until I felt a pinch between my legs.
“What if you say you’re looking for a gifted musician who hates people and loves stargazing?”
“You love stargazing?”
“Oh, I wasn’t talking about me,” he said. “I was thinking of another guy I know.”
