Page 11 of Sleepover

“You can go. Take your car. I’ll Uber.” That suddenly made it real, what I was about to do. “I’ve never done this,” I confessed. “Gone home with a guy I met in a bar.”

Capria grinned. “You’re like a hookup virgin! Ask him for his phone, take a picture of him, and send a text to me so I have his phone number and photo.”

“That’s not going to keep him from killing me and tossing my body in a Dumpster.”

“No, but it will probably keep him from killing the girl after you,” Capria said with a wry grin.

I made a face at her. “Thanks. Helpful.”

I slid out of my seat, then paused. On one side of the divide was safe and numb, and on the other side—

Let’s go!my body crowed.

I left Capria, crossed the crowded, noisy room, and slid onto the stool next to his. Up close, I could feel the heat of his body, and something else, a humming current of attraction. He smelled like soap and just the right amount of some spicy cologne. I wanted to lean in and breathe him deep.

“What do you drink?” No hello. He didn’t even turn his body toward the stool where I sat. Which was okay, because he had a terrific profile.

“Peach on the beach,” I told the bartender. I extended my hand. “I’m Elle.”

He turned and took my hand in his. His was big, his palm callused, his skin warm. “Sawyer.”

“Are you from around here?”

“Couple towns east. Geneva.” His speech was rough and short. I wanted to run a thumb over it, the way I wanted to reach out and feel the shadow of dark stubble on his jaw.

“I’m from the other direction, a couple towns west,” I said, smiling, noting how unafraid guys are to give out personal information, and how cautious I felt about telling him where I lived, even though I was planning, potentially, on having sex with him. “My friends said Maeve’s was the place to be.”

“It really is,” he said, looking around. Eighties music blared from the speakers and a throng had formed on the dance floor. People were kissing and grinding and groping. Sex was everywhere. I could feel it wriggling in my bloodstream, too.

Capria waved at us from the edge of the horde.

“That’s my friend Capria.”

He waved back. She gave him the two-fingered I’m watching you sign. He held up his whiskey in a toast and drank.

“She’s got your back,” he observed. “So what brings you guys to Maeve’s tonight?”

“This is my get-back-on-the-horse outing. My divorce just got finalized. Shit,” I said, biting my lip. “I wasn’t going to say that. I wasn’t going to talk about my divorce at all.”

Hattie had coached me. Keep it light…

He shrugged. “It’s okay. Divorced is good. Better, in this case, than married.”

That made me smile. “Depends on your perspective, I guess.”

“Not so good from your perspective?”

“It’s been a shitty year.”

My drink came and I drank it too fast. He raised his eyebrows. “You want to tell me about your shitty year?”

“Um, you don’t really want to hear it.”

“You should let me be the judge of that.”

“It’s in the rules book. Don’t talk about your divorce when you’re trying to hook up with a guy in a bar.”

I clamped my mouth shut. My face was bright red. I almost jumped off my stool and fled. I’d just voiced a mammoth assumption.

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