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I lean into him, nearly pressing my nose to his muscular bicep, and inhale deeply, rolling my eyes to the back of my head.
“You smell good, too,” I groan. “Get away.”
I angrily snatch my drink, seriously mad about how tempting he is. I peek at him, enraptured as he shakes his head, clearly annoyed. Yet, he doesn't move away.
“Don't sniff me.”
I raise my brows. I've never been able to arch just one, and I always wished I could. It'd make my next response extra flavorful. “Then leave.”
The bartender said I was dangerous, but this man embodies danger. His hair is buzzed close to the scalp—short little spikes that would probably feel incredible against my hands—hazel eyes with a dark splotch on the right one, and deeply tanned skin. A light dusting of hair is scattered across his sharp jawline, accentuating the near-criminal look he’s got going on.
Body of a Greek god? Check.
Could ruin my life with just the tip? Check.
Has a permanent scowl and carries himself like he hates the world? Just fuck me already.
“Make me,” he retorts, tipping his chin at the bartender. The direct challenge in his tone causes shivers to run down my spine, even if it does sound condescending. Doesn’t stop me from needing to clench my thighs.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I’d rather not embarrass you in front of company.”
His gaze slowly slides to mine, a stoic expression on his stupidly handsome face. “Do I look like I have anything to be embarrassed about?”
Before I can reply, the bartender approaches, his demeanor much less feral, while the asshole next to me orders his drink.He doesn’t even get carded.
I scoff.Men. They all suck.
I lean toward the bartender. “’Scuse me. This man—” I pause and look to the side. “What’s your name?”
“Enzo,” he supplies readily, as if I’m not about to tattle on him. I scowl. He has a ridiculously sexy name.
“Enzois bothering me,” I say, looking back to the bartender and nodding my head toward the culprit. “I’m scared for my life.”
I swiftly turn to Enzo and add in a quick, “My name’s Jamie, by the way, thanks for asking,” before facing the bartender again, giving him an expectant look.
All I get is an eye roll from him before he walks away. I slump, and my new companion chuckles deeply from beside me.
“He really doesn’t like you.”
“I know!” I say, throwing up my hands. “Never hurt a fly.”
I nearly choke on the blatant lie, and my mood plummets with the reminder that I only hurt people for a living.
Seeming to notice the sudden change in my demeanor, he flicks his gaze at me. I’m not too fond of the way he’s observing me. I shift in my seat, my thighs sticking to the cheap leather.
“I’m going to move away now,” I warn him.
He stares at me, and I glare at my empty drink. I don’t move. Not even an inch. And he just lets me get swept away in the tornado in my brain.
“How does another drink sound instead?”
“So, you’re telling me that you swim withsharks? As in the big scary monsters in the ocean that eat people?”
He shoots me a droll look, unimpressed with my assessment.
“They don’teatpeople. You’re more likely to get in a car accident than get bit by a shark.”
“Really, that lame ol’ statistic? They say that with everything.” I deepen my voice mockingly and say, “You’re more likely to get in a car accident than a plane crash. Why don’t you make it more interesting and say you’re more likely to get killed by a falling coconut?”
