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I’m staring at the front door willing it to open when it actually does. I almost jump out of my skin. I don’t know if it’s the sunlight blinding me or what, but my breath is taken from my lungs as soon as the man walks in.
He stops just inside the door. It closes behind him, and my eyes adjust to the man standing in front of me.
He’s tall. Although everyone looks tall to me since I’m only five-four, he’s at least six-two, maybe taller. He’s got a short, clipped beard, messy dark hair, and blue eyes. Blue eyes that look straight into my soul.
I suck in a breath, hold it, and wonder what the hell he’s doing in here. I can’t imagine a man like this wanting cupcakes and cookies, but I don’t ask him that, mainly because I can’t even breathe, let alone speak to him.
He clears his throat, and I stop staring at him, giving him a smile before opening my mouth to ask him if I can help him.
“What happened to the bar that used to be here?” he barks.
His tone sounds hard, harsh, and even angry. I jump slightly again, blinking a few times. My head moves back slightly, and my back straightens.
Opening my mouth, I start to answer. Planning to tell him that I have no idea what he’s talking about. Let him know that this was completely remodeled before I rented it. But he continues speaking.
“How long have you been here?”
“Four months,” I answer. It’s his turn to blink. But I decide to continue. Since that’s what he did to me. “When I rented it, the building looked exactly like this. Was there a bar here before?”
He blinks again, jerking his head back slightly. “There was a bar here for over forty fuckin’ years,” he grinds out. He seems angry as hell. “Are you telling me the bar is gone completely?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I murmur. “I don’t know of any bars down here.”
“Motherfucker,” he hisses.
He digs his hand into his pocket, takes out his phone, then turns to the side and stares at my Filthy Sweet Treats neon sigh as he puts his phone to his ear. I take in the rest of his body. His jeans hug his body perfectly as if they’re molded to his thighs and ass. They’re also worn in all the right spots—spectacularly.
He’s wearing a leather jacket, a black one, like a motorcycle jacket, that is covered in a bunch of patches and stitching. I don’t even focus on those. All I can do is continue to stare at him, all of him.
He's hot as hell.
Like, really hot.
He’s a little older than me, but I don’t think it makes him less attractive. In fact, I think it adds more. He’s got some crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes and a little salt in his dark beard, which is hot, too.
I don’t think I’ve ever been attracted to a man the way I am to this one.
“The bar isn’t here. I’ve got three kegs, and it’s gone. No, I’m fuckin’ serious. I’m standing right where it used to be. It’s a goddamn bakery with fuckin’ vegan bullshit in the case and hot-pink neon signs in fuckin’ cursive.”
I try not to take offense at the vegan bullshit comment, but I’m kind of offended because I know it tastes amazing and nothing even close to bullshit. He wouldn’t know that, though, because I would venture to guess he’s never even stood this close to something vegan before, let alone tasted it.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I stare at his profile, wondering why he’s so angry. He is, too. Super pissed off.
“Fuck,” he grunts. “This is three fuckin’ kegs. Yeah. Okay, I’ll be back soon.”
Slowly, he turns to me, his eyes finding mine and holding my gaze for a moment. He marches toward me and lifts his hand, placing it flat on my counter before he speaks.
“You got the landlord’s number?” he asks. Although it’s not a question, more like a demand.
“I do,” I whisper.
I’m not sure why he intimidates me. Maybe it’s his forceful tone, his deep voice, or his amazing looks. His eyes find mine again, and they are intense. Everything about him seems intense. My hands tremble as I dip my chin, ripping my gaze from his, and start to look through my drawer to produce the landlord’s number.
When I finally find the card that was given to me a few months ago when I signed the lease, I lift it up and gently place it on the counter. His gaze flicks to the card, then slowly lifts to meet mine again.
Then it’s as if his entire body changes. A smile appears on his lips, his blue eyes almost sparkle, and he chuckles.
“Thanks, babe,” he murmurs. His voice has changed. It’s no longer scary. In fact, it’s rough yet almost gentle.
