Page 6 of Ditching the Dragon (Fated Dates)

He grunts again and nods, returning to the guys waving arms over the bar halfway down the length of the room.

“Patience,” a smoky, rumbling voice murmurs to my right. He leans in close, so close that I can feel his warmth on my bare shoulder.

The man next to me is broad-shouldered, with jet black hair and startling green eyes with flecks of gold. His five o’clock shadow partially obscures the uptick the corner of his mouth makes while I examine him.

There’s something unnatural about the way he watches me, and it sends a thrill dancing down my spine.

Hello, handsome.

“What’s that?” I ask when I manage to find my voice. His grin spreads into a mischievous smile. His eyes shine, his focus so heavy that it pins me in place without touching me.

“Patience,” he repeats.

“Patience?”

“Yes,” he says, practically a purr. “The best way to make a woman come is patience. There’s an art to it. Every woman is different and has different needs.”

Jimmy puts a new drink on the surface in front of him. My neighbor slides it over to me, and the smell of tart lemon and sweet syrup used to make the whiskey sour is barely perceptible over eau-de-bar. A single stemless cherry speared on a toothpick rests over the rim. It’s a helluva guess to get right.

“Satisfying a woman requires careful attention,” he adds as he leans closer.

The bar is noisy, but all I hear is him.

“What does she like?” he asks playfully.

My newcomer plucks the toothpick with my cherry from the glass, dips the fruit into my drink, and raises it to his mouth.

“How much pressure to use. Speed. Depth.”

The cherry disappears between full lips, and sharp teeth drag the item from the pick.

“Depth?” I ask.

He grins then sticks the toothpick into his mouth so that it hangs lazily from smiling lips.

“Depth, gorgeous. When you aren’t overcompensating, you need to be thoughtful about depth.”

“You sound like you’ve perfected the art of patience. That can be as much a hindrance as a blessing.”

The fine hairs on my arm and shoulder prickle at his proximity.

“No woman I’ve been with compares to merely talking to you.”

“That’s such a line, but I like it, so I’ll let it slide.”

He growls, the rumbling bass resonating in my chest. “It says something that you don’t like I’ve been with other women but do like that I prefer you. Feeling a bit jealous? Maybe possessive? You should consider that a sign.”

“A sign of what?”

“There you are!” Violet interrupts and drops her arm over my shoulder. “Sorry, it took forever to push through the crowd. You should come back to the high top.”

“Actually, I was—” is all I get out before Violet yanks me to my feet and hustles me away. The guy at the bar watches me go with flat brows and sparking eyes.

Oh, he definitely doesn’t like that I’ve left him.

And somehow, I find that kind of fun.

“No riff-raff, Annie,” my supposed best friend says when we get back to the table the bachelorettes saved for us.

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