Page 17 of The Bridges I've Burned

I felt someone brush my arm, and I immediately turned. The bar was pretty packed, so it wasn’t the first time someone had squeezed in to try and flag down the distracted bartender.

It was, however, the first time I’d been rendered nearly speechless by the interloper.

He was everything I avoided.

Hair so dark that it was almost black. The ball cap he wore covered most of it, leaving only the tiniest raven-colored tendrils peeking out. He was tall. Damn tall. He wore a slim-fitting black hoodie, the sleeves pushed up. Every inch of his thick forearms was covered in ink.

And his face. Chiseled cheekbones, intense emerald-green eyes, and a freaking eyebrow piercing.

If Adam Levine had a doppelgänger, it would be this guy.

That studded brow rose as those green eyes darted to the earbud he’d clearly noticed, and then he smirked, almost challenging me.

Look away, Elena.

Look the fuck away.

But I didn’t. Like an idiot, I pulled the AirPod out and cocked an equally challenging eyebrow. See, Mr. Bad Boy, I can do it, too.

He seemed to like that, his grin widening. “You know, some might consider that rude.” He pointed to the AirPod in my hand. “Downright offensive even.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief. He was goading me.

Flirting even.

“And are you one of those people?”

“Might have been if I hadn’t seen your playlist.” He motioned down to my phone. I hadn’t pressed stop yet, so the music rambled on. It was in the middle of “Wonderwall” by Oasis. “Didn’t peg you for a Metallica fan.”

Metallica? How long has he been watching me?

“And you’re basing this assumption on what?”

His eyes drifted down my body so leisurely that it gave me chills. He chose not to answer and instead asked, “Can I ask why you’re willingly in a bar, during karaoke night, when you clearly don’t want to be?” He again pointed to the AirPods.

“You can,” I answered with a shrug. “Not sure I’m going to answer though.”

That grin returned.

Does he have freaking dimples?

My insides flip-flopped, which was a definite sign I should walk away. No good could come from a bad boy with dimples and a panty-melting grin. But instead, I just asked, “What about you? Are you a fan of karaoke? Gonna get up there and sing a little ‘Sweet Caroline’?”

“Karaoke really isn’t my thing. I’m just here for the food, which appears to be lacking. Wanna head over to a table and try out our luck there?” He pointed behind him to where an empty table sat.

Huh, why hadn’t I thought of that?

“Then, maybe I can find out just how good your taste in music is.”

“I have excellent taste in music. Maybe it’s your taste that’s lacking.”

Man ban. I have a man ban.

Why was I still talking to him? It had been easy enough to shut down the flirty bartender. This should be no different.

“We’ll see.” He motioned with his hand, cocking that pierced eyebrow. “You coming?”

This was my chance to say no.

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