“Exactly.” He rests his elbow on the counter beside me, which somehow makes him closer.
I don’t recoil this time. He had already won when I got spooked from the brush-off with his leg.
“Your presence—” I start.
“Stops men from bothering you.”
Asshole. He’s so full of himself. “Your balls haven’t dropped yet? Because I’m sure that even with a small dick, you’re a man. Bothering me.”
He frowns, but a ghost of a smirk lingers on hisface. Like he’s entertained by me. But now I’m noticing not only his lips. The sharp line of his jaw.
I forget myself for a beat, admiring, and of course, he catches me, the smirk spreading across those beautiful features.
“Come on, Foxy, rather me than him.”
I follow his gaze, only to be saluted by a guy at the end of the bar who looks like he could be my father, if not grandfather. I shudder.
What the hell. I have time to kill. If I talk to Romeo, it will keep the others at bay. Hopefully. Not that it makes this situation any safer.
But I stepped into the lion’s den voluntarily, and God knows how long I’m stuck here waiting. At least this guy seems reasonably adept at verbal sparring.
I might not fall asleep or die of boredom, so that gives him another unwarranted advantage.
“Okay, I’ll have one drink with you.”
He smiles. “Good girl.”
I try my hardest to cover my reaction to his words. Praise always breaks my defenses. Goddammit.
He threw it out there only to assert his dominance. And still, the shiver that runs through me is real. Too real for comfort.
“I don’t need a protector,” I snap, just to regain my composure.
“I’m well aware,” he says simply.
If hisgood girlchipped at my defenses, this matter-of-fact acknowledgment disarms me.
“I’m going to add observation skills to the list of your good qualities,” I quip, hoping he doesn’t see my internal, and very untimely, turmoil.
He hums as if he’s savoring something. “You already have a list of my qualities?”
I walked right into that one. “It’s quite a short list.” Not my best retort, but I’m distracted by his closeness.
By his unassuming presence. He came to chat me up, I assume, but I don’t mind it. It’s light and flirtatious. Kind of “let’s see where it leads us.”
It’s not a direct proposition. Or an assumption he could have me and I should be grateful. It makes me want to know him more, and that’s not why I’m here.
He takes a sip of his drink, and I see my way out of this confusing situation. A safe topic. “What happened to your hand?”
He runs his fingers over the bandage around his thumb and wrist. “Sometimes I like to get my hands dirty.”
I roll my eyes. He scored a few points, but the double entendre is bringing his appeal down to a level I can handle. “And then you wash them so much you scrape your skin?”
He shakes his head. “Just a minor cut.”
“Shaving your pubes?” I smirk, taking a sip from my drink. Now I’m weirdly interested in his injury.
He laughs. “For someone so bothered by my presence, we’re getting very personal.”
