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“So, you’re a pro .”
“What?” I turn left, toward the direction of the voice .
That’s when I see them—the same intense eyes. It’s the same man who was watching me at the blackjack table .
I flip the chips over in my hands at the bar .
“A pro card counter,” he says as he takes a seat next to me .
Shit. I’m about to get thrown out of here .
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I turn back to the bar. I try to get the attention of one of the scantily clad bartenders, but the closest one to me is busy flirting with a gentleman .
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the man from the blackjack table as he raises his hand, and the bartender immediately smiles and begins walking over to us .
“Yes, you do. Don’t worry. I’m not going to turn you in .”
I exhale a breath I didn’t even know I had been holding. “Do you work here ?”
“No.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t. I have no idea why this complete stranger followed me. It’s not like the other night at the bar where I was dressed to pick up a guy. Tonight, I look like death. Nobody is attracted to that. So, it can’t be that. He’s not here to kick me out. That leaves…I have no idea .
“What can I getcha?” The woman leans over the bar, pushing her cleavage closer to the man’s face .
I watch his lips move, but I don’t register what he is saying. He doesn’t ask me what I want. He just speaks to the bartender, while keeping his eyes on me .
I know all of this because, when the bartender came over, I took the opportunity to check him out, assuming he would be looking at the boobs in front of him. I was wrong .
Now, I can’t take my eyes off of him even though my cheeks are burning red with embarrassment. I notice his suit that conforms to his body, making it obvious that he doesn’t work here. His dark brown hair spikes slightly to one side, and I think there is a little red in it, if I look closely. He has a hint of a five o’clock shadow outlining below his downturned lips that seem just as intense as his eyes .
The whole time I’m taking him in, he doesn’t move. His expression never changes. I’m used to men at least smiling at me, but he doesn’t .
He’s older. I know that much. He has lines around his eyes that hint at him being older than me. I have no idea how much older though—maybe ten years, if I had to guess .
He’s intimidating .
His eyes don’t shift from mine until the bartender returns with our drinks, and he reaches into his pocket to hand the woman his credit card .
I glance at the bar and see two glasses of wine sitting in front of us .
“Thanks,” I say .
He nods and takes a sip of his wine. I do the same. As soon as the liquid touches my lips, my whole attitude toward this stranger changes. The liquid is amazing. No, it’s better than amazing. It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. It puts the Cosmo I had the other night to shame .
“This is delicious.” I hold up the wine to my lips and take another sip .
“Good,” he says, seeming satisfied with my response .
I curiously look at him. “Why are you here ?”
“Because I’m like every other person on the planet who likes to drink and occasionally gamble his money away while looking at boobs .”
I smile bashfully when he says boobs even though he isn’t talking about mine. Mine are completely covered up, if you can even call what I have boobs .
He, on the other hand, still hasn’t cracked a smile .
“I meant…” I shake my head. I’m not going to ask .
