Page 24 of Wanted Beta

“Well, what about hanging a flyer in the window? Would that be possible?”

A flyer? One look at the guy’s clothes and I’m thinking he must be in a band.

Jeans, and a black dress shirt that’s not tucked in, but the sleeves are rolled up and I can see edges of a tattoo, or tattoos on one of his arms.

His dark-red dyed hair is short at the back, but I don’t know how it looks at the front.

He’s kinda tall, and I’d bet my last dollar he’s cute.

He definitely sounds like he is.

Oh no, Beth. No more liking random guys for no damn reason.

You were just drugged and kidnapped!

Have some self-preservation instincts, please.

A pretty face is so not worth that kind of trauma.

“I don’t know, man,” the clerk says with a sigh. “I get shit off my manager for letting people leave flyers in the shop.”

“But we’re in the same street,” band guy says. “We could help each other out. I’m sure we can trade some ad space or something?”

The clerk sighs. “Look, if you leave one, I’ll ask my boss when he’s in later. Come back in a few hours, okay?”

“Great!” Cute band guy sounds pleased.

I move back as he starts to turn around, getting out of his way, and trying not to notice how attractive he is. It’s impossible. He’s above average hot, and he definitely looks like he’s in a band. Sexy hairstyle, hanging over one eye, check. Tattooed forearm, check. Leather pendants, check.

Penetrating stare, check, even if I can only see his right eye, a sparkling azure that seems even more dramatic close to the deep red of his hair.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice going soft.

Clearly, he didn’t know someone was standing behind him.

“Uh, hey,” I manage to mutter back, wondering why he’s even speaking to me.

Maybe because you’re the one who was staring first?

Even realizing that, I can’t make myself stop.

Hot guys are my kryptonite, I guess.

“Are you new around here?” he asks.

“Um …” I murmur, apparently losing the ability to talk.

He opens the bag at his side and passes me a flyer.

I can’t break my gaze away from his face to look at it.

“Best food in the city,” he tells me, cracking a bright smile. “I hope you check us out.”

“Sure.” I blink when he walks by, leaving the store.

When I look down, I see the flyer is for Esposito Brothers’ Taste of Italy.

He works at my new favorite pizza place.

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