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He exhaled with frustration. “Lara.”
“You fucked her three times. As far as I know. Maybe it was more.”
“It was three times, Lara, and fine. Fuck whoever it is three times. But I don’t want this hanging over my head, so get it over with fast, give a fake name and don’t bring him into our home. I have a lot of shit going on right now. The whole Monarch disaster is driving me in
sane.”
I rolled my eyes. The upcoming Monarch hotel was bleeding Jackson’s money every day its grand opening was delayed. The restaurant and lounge inside wasn’t up to par and the hotel refused to open its doors till it was remodeled. But I knew from Sawyer that some new partner had signed onto the project, and that their investments would all be put to good use soon. So in comparison to Jackson and my relationship, the situation barely qualified as disastrous. Not to me at least. “Don’t worry, Jackson,” I said bitterly. “I’ll be sure to fuck someone tonight.
He started about four different angry sentences, finishing none before giving an animal-like snarl and hanging up.
And for the next five minutes, I stayed in the bathroom. Holding my phone, staring at my reflection in the mirror, I wondered how the hell I’d gotten here, and if Jackson and I were by far the two most fucked up people in our circle of friends.
~
After parting ways with Sloane, I sat in the back of Jackson’s car, Beck waiting around in the driver’s seat as I bounced my knee and tried to think of where the hell to go to pick up a stranger. It was the oddest situation I’d ever been in and I wished desperately that I had someone to consult with. But I didn’t so sitting anxiously, I simply tried to think of neighborhoods that Jackson and his friends would die before stepping foot in. Times Square? No, even I couldn’t bear to go there. The East Village? Too many college kids.
It took me another ten minutes to finally decide on Brooklyn.
It was perfect. Brooklyn was full of trendy but low-key bars and beautiful, young people, none of whom would know Jackson. He and his friends regarded the borough as the place where others went after popping out three kids and deciding to become “grass-fed, organic people,” as Sawyer put it.
Within twenty minutes, I was on Water Street in DUMBO. I was risking it – if Jackson’s friends were to hang out anywhere in Brooklyn, it would be posh and polished DUMBO – but I wanted to have drinks at a nice bar, so I stuck with my choice. If I was going to sleep with a complete stranger, he should at least be a put-together man of taste.
My buzz dying, I rushed into the first restaurant I saw.
It was a sexy, dimly lit place with brick walls and a beautiful, reclaimed wood bar. Soft, amber light glowed throughout the long, narrow room, somehow managing to soothe my nerves. Not completely, but there was booze for that. Taking a seat, I ordered a Manhattan, knocking it back so quickly I had to shudder.
“Whoa, hey, I take pride in my drinks,” the bartender laughed, setting a coupe glass in front of me. “This one’s on me, but you have to savor it. Really enjoy it.”
Tipsy, I nodded, all the while considering him as a prospect. He was handsome, well groomed, probably an aspiring actor like most New York bartenders. Eh. For no reason I could identify, I passed. Too pretty, I finally told myself. Sipping my drink, I looked around. The handsome-ish guy next to me stared in a way that reminded me of hormonal high school boys, and that turned me right off. Come on, give me something good, I prayed to the nonexistent God of one-night stands.
Hm. The chef who emerged from the kitchen was indeed attractive – fit, blue-eyed like Jackson, but with a shaved head and tattoos peeking out of his rolled up sleeves. He would certainly be a departure from my usual tastes. But again, for no real reason, I quickly dismissed him. Of course you’re going to make this as hard as possible, I groaned at myself, a second from giving up on the mission.
But then, my heart jumping into my throat, I spotted him.
Chapter Eleven
I froze, our eyes locking so instantly that I panicked, wondering if we knew each other somehow. No. I would’ve remembered meeting someone who looked like this. At six-foot-four, he towered over the woman with whom he emerged from the door marked “Employees Only.” Perhaps he was a manager? The owner? Whatever he was, I was thankful that he was polite enough to return his eyes to the woman as she spoke to him, because it gave me the opportunity to freely check him out.
He was a walking fantasy. Dark hair. Emerald eyes. Gorgeously tanned. In a white V-neck and jeans, he managed to look better dressed than even the chic and buttoned-up clientele. It probably helped that he was built and carved like a Greek god. The hard lines of his chest muscles were visible from under the cotton of his shirt. Sipping endlessly on my Manhattan, my eyes swept him from head to toe. I wasn’t usually a fan of beards but he sported one that was sexy, well trimmed – the definition of masculine. Heat bloomed in my cheeks as I wondered what his facial hair would feel like against my lips.
Between my thighs…
Whoa.
I stopped myself and the bartender grinned at my flushed expression. “Yeah, he has that effect,” he said, shaking his head before suddenly standing at attention as he looked behind me. I held my breath, feeling the heat of a tall, broad body only inches from my back. Tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, I turned to see the devastatingly handsome Greek god pointing to my drink and then holding up two fingers.
“Two Manhattans, got it. Didn’t realize you knew each other,” the bartender said, blinking and disappearing to the end of the bar before I could correct him. Biting my lip, I watched the gorgeous stranger ask the man beside me if he minded moving down a seat. The man sputtered, seeming to realize that he’d officially run out of time to talk to me.
“Do you know her?” he asked, his last attempt to keep his seat. Green Eyes looked at me and grinned so irresistibly that my toes curled.
“Yeah, she and I go way back.”
Despite sensing our lie, the man beside me moved down one and my heartbeat rose as Green Eyes took the seat. “So you and I go way back?” I lifted an eyebrow at him.
“To about a minute ago when I came out of that employee door,” he replied with ease. I bit my lip as I watched the corners of his twist with mischief. “Not a fan of lying but desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“Of course,” I humored him. “And what kind of desperate times were you facing just now?”
