Page 7 of My First Time Fling

I set his glass down and rummaged around for the gin on the shelves behind me. I’d been at the Flamingo for a couple of hours already before Brooklyn came in, but we were running a special on Spanish wines tonight, so I hadn’t needed to get the gin out yet.

“So you say,” Brooklyn said. “And yet everything I make always ends up too sweet, too boozy, or too watered down.”

“You’re overthinking it. At its heart, a cocktail is just spirit, sugar, water, and some amount of bitters or sour.” I turned back around and slid Brooklyn’s drink over to him along with a coaster. “Here, try this.”

He made a show of inhaling deeply like he was sampling wine before taking a sip. His face broke into a smile. “Delicious.” He smacked his lips. “I bow to the master. And this, by the way, is yet another reason you’re not allowed to leave Savannah. Who’s going to make me fancy drinks if you leave?”

“Any of the other bartenders here?” I said. “Or Charlotte herself? You’re here enough, I’m half-surprised she hasn’t adopted you by now.”

Charlotte was the purple-haired, tequila-swilling septuagenarian owner of the Flamingo. She was warm and welcoming and had a dirtier mouth than anyone I’d ever met. She’d set out to open an establishment where everyone felt comfortable, and while the bar wasn’t explicitly queer, between the pride rainbows everywhere and the giant mural of two women kissing on the back wall, it might as well have been. I would have come here even if I hadn’t worked here, and I couldn’t imagine Brooklyn stopping once I was gone.

“I might need her to. If you really do abandon me, I’ll need a grandmotherly shoulder to cry on.” Brooklyn made his eyes wide and earnest. “I’ll be inconsolable, you know.”

“You poor thing. You’re breaking my heart.”

“Good. That’s part of my nefarious plan to get you to stay.”

Brooklyn took another sip of his drink, but my attention flickered over to the front door, where a guy was walking in. Normally I would have taken a quick glance, then turned back to Brooklyn, but this guy—damn. He warranted way more than a quick glance.

Tall and broad-shouldered, with honey-colored hair, he was wearing a tight green T-shirt that clung to his pecs, biceps, and what I suspected was a set of washboard abs underneath. His warm green eyes darted around the room like he was sizing up the place.

I had to be honest, he didn’t look like the stereotypical Flamingo patron. No facial piercings, no gauges in his ears, no distressed grunge or flamboyant pink or even starving-art-student vibe. This guy looked preppy, clean-cut, and absurdly hot.

What the hell was he doing in here?

Don’t stare, I told myself as he approached. I mean, I was allowed to look at him a little bit. He was coming up to my bar after all. I could be friendly—just not too friendly. He smiled when he reached the smooth wood surface, and my stomach did a somersault.

“What can I—” I coughed, realizing my voice sounded strangled, and tried again. “What can I get you?”

That was better. I could still tell that being a foot away from this gorgeous guy had me tense, but hopefully he couldn’t.

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm. A shiver ran through me at the sound, and I hoped he hadn’t noticed. I could go swimming in that voice. It was velvety smooth. The guy scanned the taps behind the bar and nodded once. “Can I get whatever your cheapest draft beer is?”

“Coming right up,” I said, proud that my voice came out a little smoother this time. I poured him his beer and gave him a quick smile, then forced myself to stop looking at him. Or, at least, to pretend to stop looking at him. If I could talk to Brooklyn and still see this hot guy out of the corner of my eye, there was nothing wrong with that, right?

“You’re done already?” I gave Brooklyn an incredulous look. He twirled his empty glass around on the coaster sheepishly. “I just gave you that drink. Just because that one was on the house doesn’t mean they all will be. You gotta pace yourself.”

“Now, see. That’s perfect marathon running advice, right there,” Brooklyn pointed a finger at me. “You’re a natural. Made for long-distance running. If you leave before the race, you’ll never get to show us all what you can do.”

“I’mnotrunning that marathon,” I said for what felt like the millionth time that day. “I embarrass myself enough as it is. I don’t need to go looking for more opportunities.”

“You won’t be embarrassed if you train for it and actually do it. Besides, think how buff you’ll get.” Brooklyn tossed a glance at the hot guy drinking beer and smiled wryly. I followed his gaze but jerked mine away when the guy looked up and made eye contact.

“I don’t even think that’s possible for me,” I said with a groan. “I think I’m genetically unable to get buff. Doomed to be skinny-fat for the rest of my life.”

“Well, you certainly will be withthatattitude,” Brooklyn sniffed.

“Not that it’s any of my business, but it is true that you don’t tend to bulk up from distance running.” I jumped at the sound of Hot Guy’s voice and turned to look at him. His left arm was folded up on top of the bar, his right one bent and holding his beer. He smiled apologetically when he noticed I was startled.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, it’s fine,” I said quickly. Who was I to tell a sexy stranger that he couldn’t talk to me? Not that I thought he was interested. There was no reason a guy who looked like thatshouldbe interested in me, even if he did like guys. But still, a little conversation never hurt anyone.

“Have you run a marathon?” I asked, tilting my head to the side and considering him. It gave me an excuse to look at him, and I liked what I saw. Now that his arms were flexed, I couldn’t help but stare at the muscles rippling under his skin.

Even if he was totally straight and had wandered in here by mistake, I could enjoy a little eye-candy, right? After the day I’d had?

“A few.” Hot Guy shrugged his shoulders like it was no big deal.

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