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They closed with “Yelling From the Bottom of a Hole,” the one song anyone in this bar might actually know from their EP, and got the hell off the stage to make room for the local band everyone was really there to see.
The second they got off stage, Isabella looked away. She’d been staring. Staring hard at that tall white guy. Not her type, not at all. However, she wasn’t sure what her type was since she hadn’t dated anyone since medical school. Men got in the way of everything. The only dates she’d been on since were arranged by her mother, all sons of her church friends. Isabella wasn’t interested in dating a practicing Catholic and after hearing the way she swore and learning she was going to make more money than them once she finished up her residency, they didn’t want her either.
So she’d given up on men.
But that sexy beanpole stirred something in her.
“He’s coming over here,” her friend, Zoey, muttered in her ear.
“No, he’s not,” Isabella muttered and held up a hand to flag down the bartender. “Let’s have another drink and then get out of here.” The bar was supposed to be a pit stop on the way to the strip club. Not Isabella’s idea, however, none of her thirtieth birthday party had been her idea.
Zoey grabbed her hand and pulled it down. “Let him buy you a drink, silly.”
“I can buy my own drinks, Zoey,” Isabella said with a roll of her eyes. “Besides he…” She trailed off when the sexy lamp post sat on the open stool behind Zoey. Though his head was lowered, a veil of sweat-soaked hair covering his eyes, she noticed the way he tilted his head in her direction, only for a moment.
But a single moment was enough.
“He’s right behind me, isn’t he?” Zoey asked.
Isabella nodded.
“Byeeee…” Zoey said, sauntering off and grabbing the rest of Isabella’s friends to go tear up the dancefloor.
Isabella didn’t know what to do with herself, turning to face the bar. Her heart didn’t beat fast anymore. Except now it was.
She placed her palms flat on the bar. Not knowing what to do with her hands.
“Happy birthday.”
Isabella had never met him. Only heard him sing. But she recognized his voice already. She shot him a look, hoping she didn’t look afraid.
“Unless that’s a joke or something,” he said with a jerk of his finger pointing at her sash.
“Oh, no, no,” Isabella said quickly, grabbing the sash and looking down at the stupid cursive. “It’s my birthday.”
The man smiled through closed lips.
Say something, Isabella.
She didn’t. And Isabella knew well enough that people took her silence for intimidation. “Resting Bitch Face” people used to call it before they realized how rude that was.
“Uh, I know I’m not supposed to ask a woman her age –“ the guy started again.
Isabella guffawed, more forcefully than necessary. “Yeah, that’s a well-known fact that most people ignore.”
“But –” He held up his hands. “Let’s make a deal.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Do I strike you as the type who makes a deal?”
Rex didn’t expect that response. Usually, he’d win over a woman with a little forwardness, a little game-playing. However, she was no-nonsense. Knew his type.
Made him like her more.
“Well, how about if I guess and I’m wrong, I buy you another drink?” Rex said with a nod toward her now slushy vodka soda.
“And if you get it right?” she asked.
Rex gave her a lopsided smile. “Well –”
