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“I always notice beautiful ladies.”
“A pastime of yours?”
“What’s the harm in looking? Especially if you’re single. Maybe my weakness is long, wavy, raven-black hair and sharp, high cheekbones. I couldn’t tell from afar what color your eyes are, but smoky-gray? You’re stunning, Vanessa, and I’m thrilled your name captures your beauty. Your porcelain skin contrasts with your dark hair, and you’re a vision.”
“You sound like a stalker.”
“Not at all. If you’ve been here before, you should know that this place seems to draw interesting characters.”
“True enough,” I remark, not knowing what to think of him at all. “What brings you here?”
Dylan leans against the bar, his posture relaxed yet attentive. “I’m trying to find my place in this world.”
“You could say that I am too,” I murmur.
“When the mighty fall…”
I eye him. He’s not a part of the Shadow Syndicate.
Scratch that. He hadn’t been a part of the Shadow Syndicate. Is that what he’s referring to?
“I’m not a cop, if that’s your worry,” he says with a laugh.
“I haven’t a care in the world.”
“Looking like that, how could you? I bet guys try to buy you drinks all the time.”
His words are innocent enough, but it reminds me of that stranger who tried to give me a drink in front of Xavier.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “I wasn’t going to offer to buy you one since you seem wary of me yet. I didn’t mean to insult you or hurt your feelings.”
“You’re fine,” I murmur. “If I didn’t care for your company, I would’ve moved on.”
“Good. A woman who stands up for herself is welcome.”
I hold up a finger and catch the bartender’s eye. I place a twenty on the counter. “An old fashioned, please.”
“Bourbon or rye whiskey?”
I grin, appreciating having the options, and considering how the night is going—very well—I opt for the spicier version. “Rye whiskey.”
The bartender nods and whips it up immediately.
“Yours,” I say as he places the glass on a napkin in front of me.
He grabs the twenty and eyes Dylan.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” he says.
I wait for Dylan to have his for us to clink glasses before taking a sip. The amber liquid burns slightly on the way down, a delicious, warm feeling.
“Good choice,” Dylan says.
“Did you think I would make a poor one?”
“I think you’re rather deliberate with everything you do.”
“I try.”
