He lifts a shoulder, and it seems like there’s a bit of a breakthrough. “What’s a girl like you doing here all by yourself?”
I snag my lip between my teeth. “Long story. What about you, Mr. Table for One?”
He glances away from me. “Long story.”
Doesn’t the season start soon? Shouldn’t he be with his team?
I decidenotto ask. I haven’t exactly admitted I’ve heard of him, and if he wants to tell me more, he will.
I pull out my phone to start editing photos when his voice interrupts my plans.
“So…areyou by yourself?”
I’m surprised he wants to have a conversation. I nod. “You?”
He nods, too.
We’re staring at each other in a way that’s sort of daring the other to make the first move when the server drops off our drinks. Before she slinks away again, I say, “I’m ready to order. Are you?”
He nods, and the server looks back to me.
“I’ll take a cheeseburger and fries, no tomato, and a separate check from him,” I say. God, a nice, juicy cheeseburger sounds positively divine right now. I’m so freakinghungry.
His eyes are on me when he says, “I’ll take the same, but put hers on my tab.” He shoves the menu back into the holder by the napkins on the table, and the server leaves to put in our order.
“You didn’t have to do that.” I really shouldn’t tell him I could’ve puthisonmytab since this is all comped for me.
“I know.”
“Well, thanks. You’re a burger guy?” I ask.
He shakes his head, and it feels like my sunshine has helped thaw his icy exterior a bit already. “I tend to eat pretty clean, but there’s no way I’m going to sit here watching you devour a burger with jealousy that I didn’t order one.”
I laugh. “You could’ve had a bite. Speaking of which…” I snap a photo of my drink, and he’s sort of blurred in the background of my portrait setting. He ducks out of the way, and I narrow my eyes at him for a second before I hold my glass up in a toast. “To crowded restaurants and a table of four for one.”
He laughs and touches his glass to mine, and our fingers brush in the process.
Damn if I don’t feel an electric current travel all the way up my arm. Cheesy? Probably. But I swear, it happens.
He tips his glass to his lips, and my eyes are on his mouth as I do the same. What would it be like to kiss those lips? For those lips to drag down my neck, across my nipple, along my thigh?
My stomach clenches at the thought.
We’re both here solo. We’re both keeping the reason why to ourselves. Surely he’ll head back home in a few days. May as well take advantage of the time I have while I have it, right?
“Want to try mine?” I ask, and I push my glass toward him.
He tips it to his lips, takes in some of the liquid, and lets it sit on his tongue a few beats before he swallows. He pushes the glass back to mine, andoh my God, I’m sharing a drink with Archer Bradley. What are the freaking chances?
My content is going to positivelyblow upwhen I feature those fine-ass calves on Champagne Travel.
“Not bad,” he says.
Okay, Monroe. Time to figure out how to get into his bed.I’ve witnessed it plenty of times from the other side of the bar. I tip back half the drink in a long gulp as I try to come up with the courage to push the envelope.
“So you bartend?” he asks. When I nod, he asks, “Tell me some crazy bartending stories.”
“Oh, it’s just a bar and grill in this small suburb where I live. A few weeks ago, I watched a wife ask her husband for a divorce. Oh, one time there was an accident in the parking lot, and the guy who got hit came in the bar screaming at the guy who hit him. Had to call the cops on that one.” I widen my eyes and twist my lips.
