He hums. “I’d be ready to leave, too, if I spent my time at the bar sipping on a drink by myself.”
I shrug my shoulders while swirling my straw in the drink. My stomach’s doing that buzzy thing, so the drink is working, but I’m shocked because I usually need at least three to feel it. But then again, I haven’t drunk in over a year, so I might not handle it well now. Does it work like that? Or it could be that I ate too little before coming tonight?
The man’s gaze is piercing right through me. All the open seats at the bar, and he chooses to sit next to me. Fuck, this is what I get for coming out.
“I’m guessing you aren’t here by choice.” And he keeps talking.
“My sister begged me to.”
“Ah. I usually have to convince my brother to come out with me, but he was more willing to tonight.”
I nod, warming my hands on my glass while looking into it. Hoping that’s the end of our brief interaction, I sip the rest of my drink. How much longer will Odie be?
I’m naïve for thinking he was done. “This is our first time in Louisiana. Seeing what the clubs are like is high on our bucket list.”
“Wow.” I hope that sounded enthusiastic.
“We’re from England,” he adds.
My eyes flicker to his, and suddenly I’m wondering why I hadn’t been looking at him before. His blue eyes are pretty as the ocean—or maybe that’s the way he was looking at me and the alcohol talking.
Blinking to stop staring, I say, “I can tell.”
His lips twitch into a grin. “How so?”
Howcouldn’tI tell? “Besides your accent? You ordered a gin and tonic.”
The guy leans forward, and the smell of body wash and cologne hits my nostrils. “What’s wrong with a gin and tonic?”
Only then do I see the tongue piercing in his tongue, and I can’t help the lingering of my gaze. “It’s really British.”
His pink lips open to protest, but he stops himself. “I can’t argue there.”
I sip at my drink again while the man’s fingers tap against the bar table rhythmically. Seriously, why is he speaking to me now? I mean, I don’t exactly scream “talk to me.” I know I was staring like a complete freak, but it’s been forever since anyone’s held my gaze for more than a second, and I couldn’t look away.
“You don’t talk much, yeah?”
I slide my empty cup forward. The bartender should get the hint. “I do when I need to.”
His head tilts, and I swear he’s slightly offended. “So now isn’t a time you need to?”
No way this is a random stranger who wants to strike up a conversation with me. He must know who I am. I’m not trying to hide, but I get recognized less out here, so I didn’t think he’d know who I am.
Shit. Is he with the media? I can see the headline now: “Kingsley Beaumont spotted at a club for the first time after the incident.”
My shoulders tense. I told Odette this was a bad idea, but she doesn’t fucking listen.
Casper slides him the drinks before I have time to respond. He then takes the lime from a drink, positions it between his lips, and sucks on it. And shit, I’m staring again.
He swings his legs off the barstool, drinks in hand. “Anyway, I’ve to find my brother. It was nice meeting you…”
“Kingsley,” I fill in the gap.
“Nice name. I’m Rip.”
Odd. “Cool name.”
Rip waves goodbye and disappears into the crowd.
