Page 18 of The Bridges I've Burned

I could politely decline and still find somewhere else to eat. Maybe.

But instead, I got up and followed him to the empty booth.

As we were walking to the secluded booth in the corner, I did not notice the way his jeans clung to his tight ass. And I definitely did not look at all those tattoos on his arms and wonder what others he had hiding under all those layers of clothing.

Nope. Because he was not my type.

Not. At. All.

And it didn’t matter anyway. This wasn’t a hookup.

It was just two strangers enjoying a meal together.

Sure, keep telling yourself that.

There were times when I really wished I didn’t have an inner monologue. That bitch was annoying as hell.

I watched as he slid onto the bench across from me. There was something almost familiar about him, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe he was local, and I’d seen him around during my many visits to Ocracoke.

No. I would have definitely remembered a guy like him.

He seemed to notice me staring at him, and his lip curved upward into a wolfish grin. My cheeks flamed, and I awkwardly looked down at the menu in front of me.

Did I just blush?

I was not the girl who got flustered in front of a guy.

I was the woman who brought men to their knees—both in the courtroom and the bedroom.

This…this was not acceptable.

“So,” he began, bringing my attention back up to his emerald-green gaze, “do you always hang out in annoying karaoke bars? Or was this a desperate attempt to get away from something? Family reunion? A minivan full of kids? A husband you regret marrying?” His eyes glittered with amusement.

“Do you really think I’d agree to dinner with you if I had a husband somewhere, waiting for me?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know anything about you. You haven’t even given me your name.”

He was right. I hadn’t. Jesus. How reckless of me. Not even twenty-four hours into my man ban, a couple of dimples and a sexy grin, and there I was, having dinner with some nameless guy.

“You haven’t given me yours.”

His mouth opened. “It’s?—”

I put my palm out, stopping him. “Nope. I don’t want to know.”

His brow cocked. “You don’t want to know my name?”

I shook my head, my hair tickling the bare skin on my shoulders. “Nope. No personal questions. This is just dinner. No hooking up.”

His grin widened as he leaned forward on his elbows. “I don’t believe I offered. Are you always this forward?”

“I—” I rolled my eyes. “Just order some damn food.”

He laughed, and I tried not to notice how the sound sent shivers down my spine. Or how those dimples made his whole face light up.

God, he was pretty.

I was done denying it. Our time together was fleeting. An hour, maybe two. And then we’d part ways, and I’d never see him again.

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