Page 7 of Catching Mr. Right

Chapter Three

MANDY

Dancing on a Friday night is one way to shake off the week’s worries, but it sure is thirsty work. I lean over the bar to catch Jack the bartender’s attention. It only takes a minute before something pink and delicious is set down in front of me. Holding the straw between two fingers, I suck on it and batt my eyelashes at the beefy Casey brother. “What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like?” He grins at me and wiggles his eyebrows. He doesn’t take my flirting seriously. Never has. “Louise needed a hand, and I had the night off.”

“Wait. Where’s Dean?” Usually the second youngest Casey helps with the bar at Mayhem between setting up for the bands and occasionally treating us all to his musical talents. The man can sing like nobody else I know, but then all the Casey family have music in their veins.

“I couldn’t actually say.” He shrugs. “I gotta keep moving. Not everyone has the summer off.”

“I’m volunteering in the Bennington Ranch kitchen,” I yell at his back as he moves down the bar. “Under an evil dictator. Seriously. It’s all hollering and cussing. I don’t know how I’m supposed to put up with him for the entire season.”

“Why don’t you tell us how you really feel?”

When you speak of the devil you should always be prepared for him to slide onto the empty stool beside you and order up a double straight Jack. Seriously, how does that even happen? Someone was sitting there two seconds ago, and now I’m staring into a muddy gaze that tries to suck me right in. Yeah, he should be so lucky. “I just did. You’re a dictator. I’m not sure what the tator part stands for, but the dick part is true. You’re a giant dick to work with. Giant. A little like that trouser snake is would be my guess.”

“And here I thought we were friends.” He smirks, picking up the glass that lands in front of him and saluting me with it. “It hurts that you think so little of me. Or is it big?”

“Funny.” I yank the straw from my drink and sip straight from the rim of the glass. The tartness of the strawberry vodka and sweet from the lemonade makes it far too easy to drink. I can already feel my eyeballs and I’m only halfway through my first drink. “Maybe you should show me, and I could let you know.”

Wait, what?

“I don’t think—” Casper bolts upright.

“I didn’t mean—” I drop my drink to stop him from rushing off before I can apologize. Working with him is going to be so much more awkward if he thinks I want to see his cock. Which I totally don’t. Not at all. Unless he wants to show me. For curiosity’s sake only, of course. Just so I know if my guess is right or not.

“I’m sorry. I’m not—” Pink vodka splashes us both as my glass tumbles toward the floor.

“You’re not interesting. To me. I’m holding out for the man of my—” The impact of glass smashing on wood, though lost in the noise of Mayhem, makes me jump. “Oops.”

“There’s a guy? A man?” He’s intent in his study of me.

Has he lost that hard edge that makes him look like he’s carved of stone more often than not? It makes him almost… Beautiful. I reach up to touch his face, and he freezes under my fingertips. Just about. His jaw works as he swallows, contracting and releasing. Rough stubble prickles my skin, giving me a little thrill, or maybe it’s his eyes. Rich warm pools that a girl could fall into if she was prone that way.

I’m not inclined, though, personally. His skin is so smooth where the stubble stops, his chin strong. Those lips that hold a firm line are fuller up close than I expected. Supple.

They part under my touch and his warm breath blows across my fingertips, setting nerve endings alight. “A boyfriend?”

Oh, right. “Not exactly.”

“But there’s someone?” he asks. His lips tickle my fingers, and I drop them uselessly to my side.

“Right. There is. Of course there is.” I only told Summer a week ago that I was definitely done with holding out for Sam. Except for in my fantasies. But I should lie, right? I already did, so I should follow that up with a detail that will make it believable. And it’s only a little lie. I don’t want the entire summer to be awkward. “There’s totally a guy. A drop dead gorgeous one.”

“His name’s Chris, isn’t it?” He wiggles his eyebrows in genuine amusement while he signals to Jack. Gripping my arm, he drops his head to mine. “What are you drinking?”

“Strawberry sparklers.” I don’t understand. I don’t get why he needed to bring his face so close to mine when we’ve been yelling our conversation up until this point. I can’t fathom why his warm breath and soft lips beside my ear set me to tingling, or why I want to clasp his face with my hand and move closer. Sure he’s man candy, but he’s like a WarHead, and I don’t like those. “No, his name isn’t Chris. It’s… Oh my God, Sam?”

Casper is bent toward me, which means I can see over his shoulder, and what a view it is. Summer’s brother stands at the other end of the bar. On his own, he scans the crowd, probably searching for his sister. My pulse jack rabbits as I drink him in like an ice-cold glass of water.

Casper says something, but I don’t catch it as I twist around him. “He’s here. My dream man is here.”

I make a beeline through the people around us. No one is going to stand in the way of Sam and I, now that he’s here in the flesh. Such masculine, defined flesh it is too. Such a tight gluteus maximus. I got my hands on it a couple times. Pity I didn’t have a chance to touch anything else. But this time will be different. I know it will.

“Sam,” I call out as I close in on him.

He turns to my voice, searching until he spots me. Recognition blazes in those bright eyes. I crash into him, my palms soaking up the heat of an impressive set of pecs through a blue button down shirt. And abs. My good Lord, so many abs. I get a little flustered, or maybe it’s brain freeze from the way I’m ogling him. It’s just he’s so perfect. He’s the kind of man I used to dream of when playing with Barbie and Ken in my grandma’s attic. Except Sam actually has equipment, which is super-duper important.

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