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She gives me a sultry gaze. “I’mthe lucky one here.”
Clearing my throat, I twirl my glass.
“Do you often have bad dates like the one I saved you from?”
She rests back, wrinkling her eyebrows.
“You will notbelievethe number of bad dates I get with men of my age group.”
Chortling, I curl an eyebrow. “Your age group?”
She takes a long gulp. Finishing her beer, she drops the bottle on the table.
“Do you… need more beer?” I’m almost on my feet.
She licks her lips. “I’d rather go for a shot of tequila.”
“You sure?” I sit. “It’s some pretty strong stuff.”
She laughs, before pointing a finger at me. “I’ll have you know I can hold my drink, mister.”
Grinning, I fill my cup and hand it over to her. My jaw drops as she drinks it all in one go.Wow.
“What did you mean when you said your age group? You don’t get any good dates with young men?”
“They’re all just immature dudes. Dudes, not men!” She slams the glass on the table so hard that I jump.
“What kind of men would you prefer to date, then?”
Her carefree laugh envelops me in her world, making everything else in the bar seem like an out-of-focus extra. It’s like a movie, with just the two of us as the leading man and woman.
Gritting my teeth, I suck in air. I’m stepping into territory I’ve not entered in years. Since Vanessa’s death, my relationships with women have been brief and only for pleasure. No woman has affected me like this in a long time. A shiver creeps up my spine. It’s with my best efforts that I maintain my cool.
“You said it. Men. Older, mature, good-looking men with manners. I want to go out with a man that’ll make me feel like a lady! Is that too much to ask?” she asks, still laughing.
“Does that mean you like older men?” My eyes meet hers.
She stops laughing and looks away. Her cheeks are flushed red. I take another sip of my tequila.
“I guess.” She swirls a strand of her hair. “Someone like you.”
I cough, nearly spitting out the tequila. A man like me? Her clear green eyes bore into mine, and my heart stops for a moment.
“Ah, that’s flattery. I’m not the best option for someone your age.”
I mean it. I’m not… good enough for you.
She shakes her head. “I don’t agree. In fact…”
I wait for her to complete her sentence, but she doesn’t. The color on her face deepens.
“In fact what?” I lean forward.
She glances at her watch. “It’s late. I should probably be heading home.”
Sighing, I stand, hold her hand and walk to the counter. I drop a couple of notes on the wood for our drinks and a tip. The bartender nods and we walk out of the bar.
“That was fun, wasn’t it?” I ask as we get in the cab.
