Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77611 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77611 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Does he want me to follow him? Just like that? Without buying me a drink and having the kind of conversation I usually require to make sure my hookup can speak in coherent sentences? (A guy has to have a few standards.)
My mind is so preoccupied with his presumption I barely realize the song has ended until the music stops and the crowd starts shouting for an encore. I meet Kate’s eyes briefly and shake my head, leaving the stage.
“Incredible,” Kate says into the microphone behind me. “This man needs to come to every bash from now on. Our own personal bard. What do you think? Should I twist his arm?”
The audience goes crazy again, and everyone I pass pats me on the back or shakes my hand as I walk back to our table.
“Great song,” Val says with a genuine smile. “You sounded fantastic, as usual.”
“Are you okay, Win?” Bex’s smile disappears as she hovers at my side. “What happened?”
I huff impatiently. “I’m fine. It was a nice surprise and I had fun, so thank you. I saw someone I need to talk to, that’s all. I didn’t want you to worry.”
She lifts a knowing brow. “Is it someone you know or someone you’re never going to give your number to?”
Sometimes having friends who get you that completely is irritating.
“No comment. I’ll be back soon.” I ignore her smirk and follow the stranger.
Like a fool.
That head tilt could have meant anything. He had an ache in his neck. He was offering a silent acknowledgement of my vocal stylings or admitting defeat in our staring competition. He could really have a phone call, and I just misread the cues. But the tilt gave me some serious come-hither vibes.
Who says come-hither anymore?
Oh right. People who teach history and want to jump on the junk of guys that remind them of fictional dragon assassins. Also, it sounds classier than “probably wants a blowjob” vibes.
This isn’t the spot I would have picked for that kind of meeting. Frankly, I’m not sure why Seamus allowed him back here in the first place. It’s for employees and family members only, a fact I know because Connor occasionally gets lost on his way to the bathroom after he’s had a drink or two.
There’s a door that leads down to the in-house brewery and another to the owner’s office. That one is partially open.
“No trouble. But I haven’t seen anything interesting here tonight,” drawls a voice that instantly makes me think of sweaty sex and cowboys. I wasn’t expecting an accent like that.
And nothing interesting? Ouch.
“There’s a first time for everything,” he says after a pause. “I didn’t come here for you to handle me the way you do everyone else. The only ones who matter know where I am.” Another extended silence. “Did he? I’ll take care of it.”
I hear the tones of a number being dialed and then he immediately starts speaking in a different language. One that’s oddly familiar, though I can’t place it at the moment. All I know is he sounds pissed and now I’m depressed. Because I was wrong. He actually did come here to use the phone.
So why am I still standing here eavesdropping instead of leaving him to it? Stalking a potential hookup is not behavior I participate in or agree with. I’m a little disappointed in myself. I should forget the dragon and take Connor home before he passes out and gets rolled by those ladies Bex warned me about. Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow night to find someone safe and easy. Someone who doesn’t make me act so out of character.
I turn to leave and then gasp when a strong hand grips my wrist and tugs me inside the room. He lets go to close and lock the door behind me, but his dark eyes don’t leave mine as he continues the phone call, staring like my features might be on a test later. Or like he’s prepared to stop me if I try to run.
I need a moment to process that, so I look away as if to give him privacy, taking in the small, neat office and the pictures on the desk. There’s one of the pub’s original owner, Shawn Finn, and his wife. Another with Seamus, his husband Bellamy and their four kids. Beside it is a framed, faded child’s drawing of ponies and a coffee cup that says World’s Greatest Dad. It’s so innocent and sweet, I instantly feel skeevy.
This isn’t the right place to have dirty, meaningless sex with a scowly stranger. Or to be murdered at a holiday party. Between you and me, I’m still not one hundred percent sure which one of those options is happening right now.
My radar is usually better than this. But I can’t get a read on him, apart from the fact that he feels dangerous to me, and I’m not sure why that’s turning me on so much.