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I call over for the bartender. “I’d like to send a strawberry daiquiri over to that gentleman in the brown shirt down there.” I point to Rob. “Bonus points if you have one of those bendy straws and a tiny umbrella.”
The bartender makes the drink just as I asked and brings it over to Rob. Rob’s eyes lock on mine as the bartender explains just who ordered the big, frilly cocktail for him. I lift my fingers and wiggle them in his direction.
Rob lets out an exasperated sigh.
I take that as my cue to get up and walk over toward his end of the bar.
There’s a man seated in the stool beside Rob’s. I tap the man on the shoulder, politely interrupting the conversation he’s having with his friend, and pout my lower lip.
“My feet are so sore from dancing all night. Could you be a peach and let me take this seat, please?”
“Absolutely, sweetheart.” The guy stands up, and I take his seat. “I’d be happy to buy you—”
“No, thanks. Just the seat will do. I’m here with someone.” I motion to Rob as I lift my shoulder with a cutesy wink and then swing my entire body in Rob’s direction to let the guy know that I have my sights set on a particular man this evening.
Rob leans his forearms against the bar and looks straight, offering me a view of his profile.
I give him a nudge. “Don’t worry, you big romantic. I already told you I’m not into your broody ass. I’m just surprised to see you here, riding solo. Or are you meeting someone? You know, I used to come here to meet a date from the internet. Oh my gosh, are you online dating? Please let me see your Tinder page!”
He growls, “I don’t date, and I’m certainly not on any dot-com. I just came out for a drink tonight.”
I tilt my head, and my long hair dances down the side of my arm. “If you want to sulk while having your cocktail, you go to a quiet tavern on the other side of town. You don’t hit up the hottest nightlife in all of Castleton. Come on; be honest. We’re both adults. You came here to meet a woman.”
“Is meeting someone all you ever think about?”
“That beautiful brunette who was just over here would’ve made a fine catch for the evening. I can’t believe you let her walk away.”
“She’s too young. I can’t bring home a woman who is closer in age to my son than me.”
“Fair enough. What kind of woman are you looking for?”
He narrows his eyes, circumspect. I roll mine in return.
“Stop looking at me like that. I’m not hoping you’ll say a gorgeous raven-haired girl with striking blue eyes and an exquisite personality.” I bat my lashes and look up toward the ceiling.
“You forgot to mention crazy,” he says with his glass in his hand. Just before he takes a drink, he adds, “That and curly hair. I almost didn’t recognize you at the wedding. It was straight and up in one of those fancy updos.”
He drinks his bourbon.
I’m momentarily taken aback. I didn’t know he’d paid attention to me before the wedding. I guess when you’re running from a woman you think will try to jump your bones—or worse, want to marry you—you remember what kind of hair she has.
“You’re diverting from the question. What kind of woman are you looking for, Mr. Bronson?” I wait for him to answer. When he doesn’t, I lean my elbow on the bar, place a hand under my chin, lean closer, and widen my eyes.
His mouth twists. After a few beats, his brows rise, and he lets out an exasperated breath, turns to me, and gives me his attention.
“Crazy and persistent,” he mumbles and then starts. “I don’t know what I’m looking for. I was married for sixteen years, separated for two, and now after a year of being divorced, I’m out on a Thursday night because I dropped my kids off at their mother’s and didn’t quite feel like going home. It’s my first night out in a long time.”
“And?” I pry further. “What do you think?”
“I haven’t been here that long.”
“Someone must have caught your eye.”
“Not really.”
“Liar.”
He turns back to his drink, as if the liquid will give him all the answers. “I saw someone earlier who caught my eye, but she was talking to someone else.”
