Page 32 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

You come for privacy. Good drinks.

Better food.

I observe her a few moments before walking over.

Austin is facing the counter, back to most of the room, chatting with the same bartender that was here the other night. Her posture is relaxed—but I notice the subtle shift of her weight, the way her hand fidgets slightly against the counter.

She’s nervous? Or maybe I’m imagining it.

She shifts her weight again, glancing over her shoulder like she knows I’m here. Her face is calm, but I catch a flicker of something in her expression—relief? Annoyance? Maybe both. Her lips curve into a faint smile, enough to let me know she’s spotted me.

I take a breath and start walking toward her, weaving between tables and barstools. With every step, I tell myself to play it cool, to act like I’m not ridiculously aware of how every guy in this bar is probably noticing her too.

By the time I reach her, she’s turned fully to face me, her hand tucked into the pocket of her jacket.

“Hey you.” She greets me with a big smile. “Man of the hour has arrived.”

“You forgot to roll out the red carpet.” I smirk.

She tilts her head slightly, glancing up at me. “You seemsurprisingly calm for someone whose face is all over the internet right now.”

“I am,” I say with a shrug. “You get used to it.”

“That sucks.” Her eyebrows raise slightly, glancing up at me again, smile a tad snarky. “I didn’t realize how tall you are.”

“Six four,” I inform her, feeling the corners of my own mouth twitch as I watch her process the new information.

“Well.” Austin clears her throat. “I’m not used to looking this far up. Congratulations on making me feel short.”

She is short,but I don’t hate it.

In fact, there’s something oddly endearing about the way she has to tilt her head to look up at me.

“Booth okay?” I ask, glancing down at her.

“Works for me,” she says with a small shrug, falling into step beside me as we follow the hostess toward the back of the bar.

I can feel the weight of her gaze as we walk, like she’s sizing me up in more ways than one. Normally, that kind of scrutiny would bother me, but with Austin, it doesn’t. It’s not judgment—it’s curiosity. Like she’s trying to figure out what makes me tick.

Not that there’s much to figure out.

Honestly? I’m a pretty simple guy.

Ha ha.

Still, I can’t help but wonder what she sees when she looks at me like that. Does she see the guy plastered all over the internet right now? The guy who can’t seem to avoid turning his personal life into a public spectacle?

Or does she see something else—something quieter, something closer to the person I used to be before all of this?

Before I can spiral into overthinking everything, we reach the booth and I step aside to let Austin choose which side to slide in first, eyes sliding down her backside as she scoots in.

Nice ass.

She catches me looking, but doesn’t comment; just arches a brow as if she knowsexactlywhat I was thinking.

We settle in. Remove our coats.

“Alright,” she says, flipping the menu open like we’re not here to strategize our way out of a PR nightmare. “What’s the plan?”

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