Page 20 of The Bridges I've Burned

“Nothing nearly as deep. I needed food. And like you, I have a fondness for bars.”

“Why am I not surprised by that?”

He sucked in his bottom lip, slowly dragging it between his teeth, and I swore I felt it between my thighs.

“Why did that feel like an insult? Are you saying I’m the type to frequent bars, Louie?”

“Louie?”

“Well, my first inclination was to call you Miss Louboutin, but it’s a little long, and I just can’t get that accent right, you know?” His gaze drifted to my handbag before that wicked gleam settled on me. “Gotta have something to call you when I think about you in the shower later.”

Damn.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, trying to keep my stupid grin from showing. “Oh, you’re trouble.”

“I’ve been called worse, but if that’s what you’re sticking with, I’m down.” He gave me a little wink.

“I’m not—” I gave an exaggerated sigh as he laughed.

I would not be thinking about him while I?—

Probably wouldn’t.

Okay, jury was still out.

It was like he could see the internal argument going on in my psyche, and he loved every second of it. His grin widened. “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Jesus.”

“Nope,” he said. “Not even close.”

I rolled my eyes.

Our waiter chose this moment to deliver our food, and I thanked the heavens for the interruption.

His intense stare was…

It was intense. There was no other way to describe it.

It made my stomach flip-flop and heat pool in the apex of my thighs. I tried to tell myself it was simply the change of scenery. It would be like eating the same boring cereal for breakfast every day and then suddenly going to IHOP. Everything would look good after that.

I’d been dating straitlaced suits for too long.

The bad boy sitting across from me was just a stack of decadent chocolate chip pancakes, and I was dying to sink my teeth in for a bite.

Okay, bad metaphor.

“So, you like Metallica, and I saw Oasis on that playlist. Tell me, Mystery Girl, what else floats your boat?”

“You first,” I challenged.

“All right,” he agreed, his hand sliding off the table. It came back a second later with his phone. “Pull up your music app. Show me your top songs from last year. We’ll compare.”

“But—” Those apps were a lot like social media.

“Just scroll past your username, Louie. I’m not trying to out you.” He gave me an amused, lopsided grin.

“Fine.” I grabbed my phone from my bag and did as he’d instructed, navigating to my playlist and scrolling down until the first song was at the very top and my name was hidden. I didn’t know why I didn’t want him to know my name.

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