Page 12 of The Promise Of You

Fiona’s comment notwithstanding, I’ve always been curious about guys the likes of him. The muscular guys who don’t spend their days in an office. Chatting up the bartender is almost an expectation. Now’s my chance to flirt with a guy like that.

His gaze drops quickly to my lips, and I wonder if he’s still thinking about what Fiona said to me. He’s probably judging my likelihood of going with one of the men who just walked in, all suited up.

“We’re about to find out.” He smirks with a chin tip to the group of men coming in.

The men order drinks I’ve never heard of, with modifications or specifications that sound only meant to make them look important—a twist, a dash of this, a splash of that—and he takes it all in stride.

For the next hour or two, the ambient music mixes with the rhythmic sound of ice shakers in the guy’s long, muscular hands, the thud as he plops them open, the jingle of the expert pour in the iced glasses, the woosh of beer as he fills glasses.

He owns the length of the bar, here one second, there the next, pushing back his thick hair, flashing his boyish smile at patrons as he hands them their drinks, swiftly followed by their tabs. Women’s eyes follow his every move. Men engage him in conversation, and he responds easily, all while serving a seemingly endless stream of people.

Finally a lull hits, and he leans toward me across the bar, his mouth twitching into a cocky smile. “How am I doing?”

I’m caught by the green in his eyes, and my core heats up. “Better than bucket list.”

“Yeah?”

“Is this your day job, in real life?”

He pushes himself from the bar to run a tray of glasses through a small dishwasher. “Kind of.”

I’m insanely curious about him now. “What brings you to Boston? Or are you from here?”

“I just had an inkling I’d be needed here, so I walked in.”

I giggle. “So you’re what—like an angel bartender?”

He cocks the most adorable slow grin. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Well, you have the hair for it.” And he does. Thick, dirty blond curls that frame his strong face, curl up his ears, slightly bunch at his collar.

Call for my hands to run through it.

“Shit.” He chuckles and combs through his locks as if he could tame them. “Last person to call me an angel was my mom, and I didn’t even like it then.”

Ohmygod. Straight up adorable. There’s nothing like a man who’s all man and still brings up his mom without being a mama’s boy.

I fiddle with my phone with unsteady fingers. Fiona’s text messages echo her last words to me. “Get laid! That guy is so into you!” She had a glimpse of hot-as-sin in the background before he jumped to the other side of the bar.

And I considered it, I really did, until he chose to play savior of the day. Which I can’t blame him for. Who doesn’t like a guy who saves some stranger’s day? But that doesn’t help Fiona’s mission, which was to get me laid.

And it’s not like I’m going to proposition him. Not that there’s anything wrong with a woman making the first move, but that’s not what I need right now. Right now, if I’m engaging in anything with a guy, even if just for one night, he’s going to have to work for it. I’m going to make sure I’m his priority.

Who am I kidding? This guy wouldn’t possibly be into me. I’m wasting my time.

I pocket my phone and stifle a yawn. “I’m going to settle,” I say, and watch his face fall.

He leaves his station across from me and takes purposeful steps to go dim the bar lights. “Last call!” he bellows across the bar as he gets back to standing across from me. He scans the room to see if anyone needs a last drink. Seeing no one, he scribbles something on a napkin and tucks it on the register’s screen. He prints what I assume is my receipt, but then pulls cash from his pocket and stashes it in the register, which he locks before rounding the bar and ending up at my side.

“I need to settle,” I say, pulling my credit card from my wallet.

“On me. As a thank you for keeping me company tonight.”

My cheeks burn. “I didn’t keep you company.”

He takes two more steps that place him squarely in my space, and I can’t say that I don’t like it.

It actually feels really, really good to have all his attention. All six foot something, lean muscle, tousled hair, dancing green eyes, square jaw animated by a mischievous grin, focused solely on me.

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