Page 6 of Indigo Ridge (The Edens 1)

“Hi,” I blurted. Smooth, Winn.

His eyes twinkled like two perfect sapphires set behind long, sooty lashes. “Hi.”

“I’m Winn.” I held out a hand over the space between us.

“Griffin.” The moment his warm, calloused palm grazed mine, tingles cascaded across my skin like fireworks. A shiver rolled down my spine.

Holy hell. There was enough electricity between us to power the jukebox in the corner.

I focused on my drink, gulping more than sipping. The ice did nothing to cool me down. When was the last time I’d been this attracted to a man? Years. It had been years. Even then, it paled in comparison to five minutes beside Griffin.

“Where are you from?” he asked. Like Willie, he must have assumed I was a tourist too.

“Bozeman.”

He nodded. “I went to college at Montana State.”

“Go Bobcats.” I lifted my drink in a salute.

Griffin returned the gesture, then put the rim of his glass to his full lower lip.

I was staring again, unashamed. Maybe it was the angular cheekbones that set his face apart. Maybe it was the straight nose with a slight bump at the bridge. Or his dark, bold browbone. He was no ordinary, handsome man. Griffin was drop-dead gorgeous.

And if he was at Willie’s . . . a local.

Local meant off-limits. Damn.

I swallowed my disappointment with another gulp of vodka.

The scrape of stool legs rang through the room as he moved to take the seat beside mine. His arms returned to the bar, his drink between them as he leaned forward. He sat so close, his body so large, that the heat from his skin seeped into mine.

“Winn. I like that name.”

“Thanks.” My full name was Winslow but very few people ever called me anything other than Winn or Winnie.

Willie walked by and narrowed his eyes at the sliver of space between Griffin and me. Then he joined his doppelganger.

“Are they related?” I asked, dropping my voice.

“Willie Senior is on our side of the bar. His son is mixing drinks.”

“Father and son. Huh. I thought twins. Does Willie Senior have the same glowing personality as Willie Junior?”

“It’s worse.” Griffin chuckled. “Every time I come through town, he gets crankier.”

Wait. Did that mean . . . “You don’t live in town?”

“No.” He shook his head, picking up his drink.

I did the same, hiding my smile in the glass. So he wasn’t a local. Which meant flirting was harmless. Bless you, Quincy.

A hundred personal questions raced through my mind, but I dismissed them all. Skyler used to criticize me for going into interrogation mode within ten minutes of meeting someone new. One of many critiques. He’d used his profession as a life coach as an excuse to tell me anything and everything I’d been doing wrong in our relationship. In life.

Meanwhile, he’d betrayed me, so I wasn’t listening to Skyler’s voice anymore.

But I still wasn’t going to bombard this man with questions. He didn’t live here, and I’d save my questions for the people who did: my constituents.

Griffin looked to the far end of the room and the empty shuffleboard table. “Want to play a game?”