“So what’s on this list?” he asks, and he leans in as he patiently waits to listen carefully for every detail.
I clear my throat as my cheeks turn red. Again. They might be permanently red in front of this man. “Mostly sex in different places.”
“Such as…”
“You know. Shower, balcony, beach. That sort of thing. Skinny dipping. A one-night stand.”
His brow quirks at that last one. “You need some help with those?”
“It’s notmybucket list!” I protest just as our server comes by with our food order.
He leans over his plate toward me, his eyes twinkling. “Maybe it should be.”
I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from the invitation in his. “Yeah,” I say softly. “Maybe you’re right.”
CHAPTER 6: Archer Bradley
First Kiss
There’s something about this woman that is so damn magnetic that I’m having a hard time looking away.
I didn’t want her to sit with me. But she seemed desperate—and hungry, given how quickly she’s wolfing down her burger—and I was compelled to let her sit there.
She worked for it, I guess. I wasn’t exactly welcoming when she sat.
She’s gorgeous. Dark eyes that seem to permanently twinkle. Long, dark hair that brushes against her tits in the front. She has a youthful glow to her that tells me she’s not jaded by the world yet, but she’s still got experience under her belt as a bartender, something that feels like it doesn’t quite fit her personality.
I’m usually flawless at reading people. It’s a secret superpower. I don’t talk so they can.
Butwith her…it’s like she’s holding something back. I can’t figure out what it is, though.
She’s definitely interested, and you know what? So the hell am I. I’ve got nothing else to do for the next thirty days, so why not get started on night one with a little bit of fun?
Or a lot of fun, as the case may be.
And the best part is that she doesn’t seem to know who I am. Not everyone is a baseball expert, which is refreshing compared to the circles I typically run in. She’s not putting on the act for me the way so many other people do, and it feels like that makes her different.
We finish our meals, and we order another round—our fourth, actually. I take care of the bill, which she only mildly protests, and then we’re left finishing our drinks.
To anyone else, we must look like a couple on vacation. Only we know the truth: we’re two single people who ended up at the same table in a crowded restaurant by some chance.
The restaurant is still crowded, so I lift to a stand, and she does, too. I take her hand in mine and lead her toward the front of the restaurant, abandoning our table so one of the groups waiting out front can have it.
I lead her out of the tower and toward the beach, and instead of exploring the resort, we walk along the beach, hand-in-hand. It feels romantic, and I find there’s something magnetic about her in the sense that I feel pulled toward her.
“When was the last time you were at the beach?” I ask as the soft rush of the ocean moves in and out to my left.
“I went to North Avenue Beach in Chicago a few months ago. Does that count?”
I chuckle. “You’re from Chicago?”
She nods.
“So am I, originally.”
“Favorite Chicago-style pizza?” I ask.
“Let’s say it at the same time and see what we have in common.”
