Whenever I was in-between books, I found myself frequenting Manhattan more often, wandering the parks and shops, cafes and bars. Looking for inspiration in the sounds and sights and smells. This was how I’d found The Bar Room and Cole one rainy Tuesday evening. Only three other people had been here at the time. I’d sat in the same place I was now, and we’d ended up talking about everything from beer to books to Brontë.
After a brief conversation about his trip to the Bahamas – and me updating him on B – he left me to take a drink order from a couple that had just come in.
I took my phone out of my pocket and saw I’d missed twelve messages, all from Marley, who was once again asking if I’d be coming to her graduation. Followed by threats if I didn’t. Followed by pleading eyes emojis. Followed by, “Peace out, bro.”
I chuckled and shook my head as someone walked past me, stopped, and then moved to stand beside me.
“Well,” a woman’s voice said. “Fancy meeting you here.”
I looked up and found myself staring into a pair of familiar golden-brown eyes.
Chapter 16
Lior
Graham Forrester stared back at me and I held his gaze a moment too long, distracted by the flecks of gray I’d never before noticed in his blue eyes.
He was wearing a fitted charcoal tee and black jeans that looked soft to the touch and molded to his thighs in such a way that it took a concerted effort not to reach out and run my hand down one of them. He broke eye contact, glanced around in confusion, and then met my gaze again, a cautious smile on his face.
“Where’s your date?” he asked.
“What date?” I asked.
“I was at Nobu.”
I scrunched my nose, caught, but not wanting to discuss my date.
“I didn’t think you saw me,” I admitted, leaning on the bar.
“You walked behind me on your way to your table. I saw you in the reflection of the window.”
“Well then.”
We stared at one another, the seconds ticking by as the air between us grew warm with tension, something deep inside me tightening with anticipation. Of what though? A little more verbal sparring? Or something else. It didn’t feel contentious. It felt more?—
Shit. I was staring at his mouth.
I cleared my throat. “What happened to your date?” I asked, tearing my eyes from his lips and glancing toward the hallway that led to the bathroom, as if she might walk out at any moment. But there was no drink waiting for her on the bar. No jacket on the seat beside him.
“I believe I asked you first,” he said, one side of his mouth lifting charmingly.
What the hell was happening and why had my heartbeat just quickened? Traitor.
“I bailed.”
“You bailed on Caleb Malone? World-famous rock god, sex god, guitar player?”
“Do you think it says that in his bio?” I asked and he laughed.
“I think I’ll be disappointed if it doesn’t.
I grinned and turned my attention to the approaching bartender.
“Hey Cole,” I said.
“Miss Flynn,” he said. “Your usual?”
“Yes, please.”
