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3
Kit
A Handsome Stranger
He’s tall.
That’s my first thought as his dark eyes stare me down. Super tall. And for a girl who’s barely short of six feet herself, a girl who rarely gets to wear heels because she feels like a giant freak, finding a man that towers over her is a rare occurrence.
Casey forced me out tonight, since Jack’s staying at his friend’s house, and despite the fact it was supposed to be a girl’s night out that was ruined by some other bartender calling in sick, she made me put this tight dress on, and she sat my ass at the bar so we could chat between customers.
I’m not the kind of girl who can sit alone at a bar. The pressure to be cool is almost crushing, and the fact my dress used to fit me much better ten pounds ago only has me feeling more self-conscious.
But the dark eyes watch me anyway.
His stare leaves me squirming. His study has me adding‘go to the damn gym!’to my overfull to-do list. Right beside‘drag Jack by the ear to school every damn day,’and beneath‘call the lawyer back about Dad’s estate.’Then circle the whole list in red and scribble‘go to work sixty hours a week’over top.
I watched the way Case chatted to those guys for the last ten minutes. Jealousy reared its ugly head immediately; not because she was talking to them, but because shecouldtalk to them so easily after meeting them barely three seconds before.
She’s not shy.
She’s never scared.
If that was me and four hot guys, I’d swallow my tongue and embarrass myself when I pass out from lack of oxygen.
That’s why she works at a club slinging drinks for guys like him, and why I work in a tiny office by myself and communicate with the outside world primarily via email.
That’s just the way it’s supposed to be.
I try to look away from his penetrating stare.
I’m like a deer caught in his headlights. So not cool. I glance at his friends, and I hate that they’re a group formed on the foundation of good looks.
No uglies allowed.
The guy doesn’t back down when our eyes continue to meet. I catalogue his dark features; dark eyes, dark hair that looks like it needs a trim. Dark jeans that hug his broad thighs, and a dark shirt that shows off inked forearms. His broad shoulders strain his shirt, and when I imagine my hands touching, just for a second, just to feel, a blush heats my cheeks and sends me cowering back to stare into my drink.
I’m such an idiot.
I stare at my hands, at myemptydrink, at my freshly painted nails. I watch his shoes approach in my peripherals, and when I’m on the brink of spiraling down into complete self-deprecating panic, I suck in my stomach and catch a whiff of his masculine scent as he stops right beside me.
He smells so good…
“Kit?” He says my name in a deliciously deep voice, and the personal greeting has me whipping my head up.
“Um…” I allow my eyes to flick all over his face, since he’s so close.
“Hey. I’m Bobby.” He wears the crooked smile of the devil himself, thrusts his hand out in greeting, and when I take it, I bite off a curse at my inability to be cool. This couldn’t possibly get any worse, so what’s a sweaty palm between friends?
He smiles and holds onto my hand for longer than social norms allow. His thumb strokes my wrist, and his eyes watch me and sparkle with fun when I swallow nervously. He points behind himself once he releases me. “And those are my brothers.”
I look toward the group; two of them are almost as big as Bobby, but with more military type haircuts, and the third could be Bobby’s twin, but he’s smaller. Notsmall. But smaller.
The three men meet my gaze and flash identical devil grins. Yep, brothers, alright. I nod my head to acknowledge their friendliness.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Bobby draws my gaze back as his deep voice floats in the air between us. “Pretty girl like you, sitting here all alone, figure I better stake my claim before some other dude does.”
Stake a claim? What is he …wait, he called me pretty?I want to swoon and smile, because every girl wants to be called pretty, but my heart painfully thumps in my chest with nerves, which means I need to bail before I make a dick of myself. “A drink? Umm, no thanks, I’m good…”
