Page 9 of Stay with Me

“Is that so?”

“Yep.” Amusement danced over his face. “So is swearing on Boy Scout honor.”

The twitch at the corners of my lips spread into a grin. “Well, I was never a Boy Scout, so ...”

“Want to know a secret?”

“Sure,” I breathed.

He tipped his chin down. “I wasn’t a Boy Scout, either.”

For some reason, I wasn’t very surprised by that. Especially when he was still holding on to my wrist.

“You’re not from around here,” he announced.

Not anymore. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, this is a small town, and Mona’s usually sees regulars, and not hot little pieces of distraction like you, so I’m pretty sure you’re not from around here.”

“I used ...” Wait. What?Hot little pieces of distraction like you?My train of thought was totally derailed.

He let go of my wrist, and not all at once, and he didn’t break eye contact, either. Oh no, it was a slow slide of his fingers along the inside of my wrist and then across my palm to the tips of my fingers, sending a wave of shivers dancing up my arm and then doing a jazz routine down my back.

God, it made me feel crazy, but it felt like there was a spark there. Something tangible that snapped between him and me. Totally insane, but I was finding it hard to breathe and to make sense of my thoughts.

Without taking his eyes off me, he reached down into the ice cooler and pulled out a bottle of beer, twisted off the lid, and sat it on the counter. A second later, I realized there was someone standing next to us.

I glanced to my side, spying a young and good-looking guy with something close to a buzz cut. He nodded at Hot Bartender Dude as he grasped the neck of the bottle. “Thanks, bud.”

And then he was off and we were alone again.

“Anyway,” Hot Bartender Dude said. “How about I make you my special drink?”

Usually when a guy offers to make me their “special drink,” I’d run for the hills screaming bloody murder and mayhem, but I found myself nodding again, which totally cemented the fact I was shallow and maybe a little dumb.

And totally not in control of the situation, which was a ... unique experience for me.

I watched him pivot around, and the muscles of his back rippled under his shirt as he reached for the pricey liquor on display behind the bar. I didn’t see which bottle he grabbed, but he moved with a fluid grace, grabbing one of the rock glasses, used for smaller mixed drinks and shots over ice.

The fact that I remembered the kind of glass made me want to bang my head off the bar top. I also resisted that urge—thank God. As I watched him make the drink, I tried to figure out his age. He had to be at least a year or two older than me. Within a few seconds, he placed an impressive mixed drink in front of me.

It was red on the top, then graduating into the color of a sunset, with a cherry to garnish. I picked up the drink and took a sip. My taste buds about had a mouth-gasm at the fruity flavor. “You can’t even taste the liquor.”

“I know.” He looked smug. “It’s smooth, but proceed with caution. Drink too fast and too much, it’ll knock you flat on your pretty ass.”

Chalking the “pretty ass” comment up to typical bartender charm, I took another tiny drink. I didn’t have to worry about being careful. I never overindulged when it came to liquor anyway. “What’s it called?”

“Jax.”

My brows rose. “Interesting.”

“Oh, it is.” He folded his arms on the bar top and leaned in, giving me what I was quickly learning was a distracting and devastatingly sexy half grin. “So, you got any plans for tonight?”

I stared at him. That was all I was capable of doing. Besides the fact that after a handful of minutes of being in his presence, I’d almost forgotten why I was here, which was not to socialize, he seriously couldn’t be doing what I thought he was doing.

Flirting with me.

Asking me out.

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