Squeezing the lime into my beer, I sit back and take a sip while I watch the MMA fight. After another minute goes by, the stool beside me drags against the floor and Mr. Blue shirt sits down.
“Thanks for the drink, gorgeous.”
I turn my head to face him and smile. “Anytime. I’ll let it slide that you’re drinking whiskey.”
He chuckles, deep and raspy. “Says the woman drinking Corona.”
I hike a shoulder. “I’m a simple girl, what can I say?”
Holding his glass, he lifts an index finger toward the TV. “You know, I asked the bartender twice to put the fight on, and he said no.”
“Maybe you didn’t ask nicely.”
He licks his bottom lip as he appraises me. “You don’t strike me as the type to ask nicely.”
I laugh. “I can be nice when I want something.”
“And what is it you want tonight?” His blue eyes sparkle with mischief. They’re almost the same color as his shirt. He’s good-looking, and he knows it. Which means he’ll be bold, and hopefully worth my while in bed.
Before I can answer his question, I’m met with a pair of brown eyes in the mirror behind the bar. My back goes rigid.
What the fuck?
Several feet away from me, Landon sits in a booth in the corner of the room by the window. He lifts his beer and smiles at me like a happy idiot.
“You have to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter.
The man I’m sitting with leans back. “I’m sorry...?”
I shake my head as if I can shake Landon out of it. “Sorry, I saw someone I know.” I let out a sardonic laugh. “Apparently I didn’t get far enough from town.”
The man grimaces. “Ex-boyfriend?”
“Just someone I used to go to high school with.”
He smiles like he’s relieved. “My name is Jack, by the way.”
“Ainsley.” I slip my hand into his, and he lifts it to his lips for a kiss. I try not to cringe.
On instinct, my eyes flick to the mirror. Landon is chuckling to himself as if he can read my mind.
Fucker.
He’s in an olive-green thermal shirt that clings to his muscles and accentuates his dark features. And now I know exactly what’s underneath that shirt. My skin heats at the reminder.
I brush my hair over my shoulder and turn back to the man beside me. “So, Jack. What do you do?”
“I own a gym. What about you?”
“I’m a teacher.”
His eyebrows jump. “A hot teacher. Nice.”
Double cringe. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Next up will probably be,I’d never have been able to concentrate if my teachers looked like you.
That’s basically the worst thing you can say to a teacher. It’s so off-putting.
Jack continues talking about how he started his business, but I can’t truly focus on anything he’s saying. Nerves crawl up the back of my neck. Restlessness settles in my legs. I shift in my seat like a kid with too much energy.
