“No, thanks,” I tiredly say. “I’m going back to the hotel. My flight is early as hell tomorrow.”
He assesses me, concern flitting across his features. “See you soon? I’ll send you the contract to look over before anything is signed.”
“That’s fine, Lucas. I trust you.”
He smiles and nods resolutely. With a quick hug goodbye, I drive up the coast to The Siren’s Ledger, the small, boutique hotel I’m staying at in La Jolla. On my way through the lobby, I figure it’s early enough to grab a quick bite and a drink.
God knows I need it.
Calypso
Leaning back, I take another sip of my whiskey sour and contemplate my options.
There’s a handsome brunette man on the other end of the bar who arrived an hour ago, not long after me. He’s been more focused on the basketball game on the TV than his surroundings, though. I’m not interested in fighting for a man’s attention, especially when I can’t guarantee the sex would be worth the effort.
Another man in a booth with a group of friends has caught my attention a few times as well. Glancing over my shoulder again, I take him in. Even sitting, he seems tall. He has a deep brown complexion with short locs and broad shoulders.
When he catches me staring, I smile invitingly. He chuckles and shakes his head. It’s friendly, maybe even a little shy, but when he waves with his left hand it makes sense. The gold ring is bright, catching the low lighting. I tip my drink to him and turn back around.
I appreciate honesty and loyalty at least. Even if it does nothing to help my mission for the night.
Looking around the lounge of the Siren’s Cove again, I let out a deep sigh. There are a variety of men to choose from—just none I’m interested in. Too many pretty boys raised on Daddy’s credit card or finance bros who radiate condescension. Worst of all are the men who hide, rather than flaunt, their wedding rings.
This silly tradition started five years ago. Since the day my divorce was finalized, I’ve made it a point to go out on the anniversary and meet a man with more potential to make me come than my ex-husband ever had. Most years have been successful, but that’s giving mediocre men too much credit. I have to take a lot of the work into my own hands toreallyget myself there.
There’s something different this year—I just haven’t figured it out yet. I’m torn between feeling like I should be here and going home to call the entire thing off.
So far, it seems like it’s going to be a bust, but the local hotel I’m at has one of the best cocktail and dessert menus. I’m biased, though.
Lifting the glass to my lips, I’m about to finish off my drink when a large body settles in the seat directly next to me. Side-eyeing him, I try to take him in without turning my head.
He grabs the seat of his stool and slides it closer. I back away and raise a hand to the bartender. It’s a busy night, but she nods and gives me a wide-eyed, apologetic look.
It’s not her fault that a random man is breathing down my neck and saying, “Hi.”
Closing my eyes to fight off a sneer, I don’t reply and sit up straighter, taking the last gulp and doing my best to ignore him.
“I saidhi,” he says, louder.
“And I ignored you.” My voice is cold, uninterested.
If he had made a different impression, he’d be classically handsome. Not my type, necessarily. His bleach blonde hair and crewneck are a little too J. Crew for my own liking, and I know that for a fact after being married to a man who shopped there often. Hecouldhave been enough for the night, until the feeling of his rancid breath on my skin made me nauseous.
Yeah, four years was a great streak but I think it’s time to end the tradition.
“You don’t have to be a bitch,” he says in a pissed off tone that he tries to infuse with humor. It’s one I’m more than familiar with. “I’m just trying to buy you a drink.”
“And I’m done for the night.” I rifle through my small purse, hoping there’s a twenty that will magically appear.
He turns as if he’s going to stand and pulls out his wallet. “Perfect, I’ll go with you.”
Slowly, my head moves in his direction and I swear fire is burning in my eyes.
This presumptuous douchebag.
I open my mouth to call him exactly that when another hand slaps the counter between us. A deep, gravelly sound breaks some of the tension. When I turn my head, I realize it’s a man clearing his throat and giving the creep a deadly glare.
Now this man… This man isexactlymy type.
