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“You got lucky back there,” he says, leaning in toward my ear. His proximity gives me goosebumps.
I shake my head. “I had that shot easily.”
“Yo, what the fuck! I was watching that!” a drunk guy yells when Lisa changes the channels on one of the TVs. “You fucking stupid or what?” he adds, pointing at her. I realize it’s the guy who lost a hundred bucks playing pool.
The disturbance draws everyone’s attention. The man next to me pushes back on his stool and swings around to stand, accidentally knocking his knee into my leg.
A look of panic stretches across Lisa’s face as she reaches across the bar and grabs his forearm. “Oh, no! Sit down. I can handle this.” Sliding two fingers into her mouth, she produces a loud shrill, summoning the bouncer, a burly guy, to escort the inebriated fellow out.
Another round of commotion ensues when the angry man is dragged out by the neck. I shake my head when he releases a string of profanities. Returning to my drink, I look at the mirror behind the bar and catch the man sitting next staring. With our eyes connected, he takes a long drink.
“Guess he’s mad you stole his money.”
“I didn’t steal it. We played and he lost.”
I look away and take a sip, slightly lifting my head to look at the TV just as he does. A montage of football clips continues to play, but my eyes leave the screen and slide over his profile. I stare at his lips, his chin, and his neck before landing on his Adam’s apple. It rolls with each swallow and I find myself licking my lips with a slow swipe of my tongue.
“You starin’ at me?” he asks with a rumble of his deep voice.
I blink out of my daze. “No!” I retort when his gaze meets mine and I notice amusement creasing his eyes.
“Wanna bet?”
I scoff and roll my eyes. “For your information,” I say, lifting my chin toward the television. “I was looking at Tom Brady. I can’t believe he’s still playing. He’s kinda old.” I take a sip to moisten my parched mouth.
“He’s 45 and he’s still the mothafuckin’ GOAT.”
I pull my lip up in a snarl.
“What? You don’t agree?” he asks, angling his body to face me. His knee knocks into mine playfully and sends a jolt between my legs.
Looking at this man straight on is doing crazy things to my body. His face is incredibly handsome but not perfect. His nose is a little crooked and he’s got a scar on his freshly shaved chin that could easily be hidden by a sexy scruff. Tufts of dark hair peek out from beneath his cap. I’m thinking he could use a haircut.
I shrug. “I don’t follow football much.”
“But you know who Tom Brady is?”
“Everybody does. Like you said, he’s the MothaF-in’ GOAT.”
A beautiful sound rumbles in his chest and emerges as laughter. “Did you just sayMothaF-in’?”
I suppress a smile but fail as I nod. “Don’t laugh. I’m not a fan of swearing.”
Shaking his head, he pulls his hat off, drags a hand through his hair, and grins at me, his fingers lingering at the nape of his neck. “What the hell are you doing in this bar then? This isn’t exactly high class.”
I narrow my eyes. “I didn’t say anything about being high class. I just don’t think you have to use foul language to make a point.”
“They’re just words. You can say them…sometimes you do them.” He winks, repositioning his hat on his head.
“Pfft.”
He chuckles. “What’s your name anyway?”
My gaze remains fixed on his. “Why?”
“Because I’d like to know who I’m buying a drink for.” He looks at my nearly empty bottle.
I lift my beer, drain the rest, and set the bottle down. “I’m not thirsty anymore.”
