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“You’re blatantly staring at my boobs.”
“On the contrary. I was looking at your heart.”
“You’re slick.”
The bartender slid my drink on the bar, and the handsome stranger grabbed it, bringing it closer to me.
“I’m Luke.”
I took it out of his hand and downed a few sips too many, too soon. Luke had his elbow on the bar as he casually leaned and stared at me. It was a debonaire look. A strapping man with windswept hair and a shirt unbuttoned one too many, his body pressed into a bar like a pose in a catalog.
I looked back at him and tilted my head. “You’re staring.”
“Sorry.” He grinned, seemingly embarrassed. “I think I need a map because I keep getting lost in your eyes.”
“The cheese,” I said incredulously at his line, fighting the smile that wanted to let loose. “I’m sure the next thing you’re gonna tell me is that I’m a perfect ten.”
He slid those navy-blues my way and twisted his lips with a shrug. “You are not a ten.”
I scrunched my nose at the audacity.
“You’re a nine. At best,” he stated.
I rolled my eyes, and he laughed with the mouth of the bottle at his lips and then took a drink.
My body tingled. The liquor was clearly going to my head, and I’d only had a sip. “You’re one for pickup lines, aren’t you? I bet you’re quite the player.”
“I usually play the field, but I’d hit a grand slam with you.”
A laugh bubbled from my belly, and I shook my head, giving in to his charm. “While your corny lines are not something I ever give the time of day for, I admit, it’s working. I need a distraction. And, please, before you give some sort of line about the distraction you could provide, I promise you, there is no way in hell I’m going to bed with you.”
His hand landed on his chest as he feigned insult. “That’s harsh. Not in the least did I ask you to go to bed with me, nor did I even say I was interested. I just said you had nice eyes.” He lifted his beer from the bar and halted before taking a sip. “Nice boobs too.”
I had to look away, for the way he was making my head spin was new to me. I liked men. Dated regularly. But there was something about Luke. Okay, I could admit, he was easy on the eyes. He had a smile that was practically Colgate and a roguish cleft in his chin. There was even this self-deprecating way he delivered his cheesy pickup lines. It had been seconds, and yet I was completely overwhelmed by this man.
“You’re incorrigible.”
“I prefer charming.”
He took a step away from me, which was a relief. It wasn’t that I didn’t like how he had been invading my space. I hated it and craved it, all at once.
“All kidding aside, what’s a beautiful woman doing, drinking alone, too late at night in a near-empty restaurant at a Caribbean resort?”
“This feels like a future episode ofDateline. The kind where the redhead goes missing and everyone questions the handsome stranger with an alibi.”
“So, you think I’m handsome? I can work with this.”
I pushed him away playfully.
He called over the waiter, “Garçon!” He used a French accent, which was ridiculous.
“Aruba isn’t French.”
“I know. It’s part of the Netherlands, but I just like the way the word sounds.”
The bartender came over.
Luke explained, “I’m gonna need you to take a picture of my license with your phone.” When the bartender looked at him quizzically, Luke added, “I’m going to make this woman fall in love with me this weekend, and when she does, I’m gonna need her to know where to find me when it’s over.”
