Page 3 of Tempted to Touch

'Asshole', my brain adds.

But instead of looking offended, Hayden's expression shifts to something almost... amused? "I'm afraid we're not playing the same sport."

I narrow my eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Let's just say her friend is more my type."

I automatically glance back at our table, mentally cataloging my other female friends. "Which one?" I ask, even though Sarah and Emma are both taken. Not that their relationship status seems to stop most guys these days.

When Hayden doesn't answer, I turn back to him, ready to throw down. But the challenge dies in my throat when I meet his eyes. Because that look? That's not challenging at all. That's...

Oh.

Oh.

My pulse suddenly decides to audition for a dubstep track, and is it getting warm in here? When did it get so warm in here?

"Wait.Me?"

Instead of answering, Hayden takes another sip of his whiskey, his tongue darting out to catch a stray drop on his lower lip.

I need to stop staring at his mouth.

"I'm straight," I blurt out, and immediately want to crawl under the bar. Could that have sounded more defensive if I tried?

Hayden chuckles, the sound rich and deep. "Trust me, I can tell."

"How?" The question escapes before I can stop it, and I'm not even sure why I'm asking.

His eyes travel down my body with the kind of slowness that's got to be deliberate, like he's assessing and memorizing every inch. Damn.

"Let's call it an educated guess."

He lets out a deep sigh, and his eyes are still doing that thing—that thorough, unashamed examination of my chest that makes me feel like I'm standing in a spotlight. I've been checked out before, sure, but never like this. Women tend to be moresubtle about it, all shy glances and quick looks away. This is different. This is... intense.

"Why are you hitting on me, then?" I try to keep my voice flat, but it comes out sounding more breathless than deadpan. Nailed it.

His eyes lock with mine. "Am I?"

Oh shit.Oh shit oh shit oh shit. Way to go, Chris. Maybe I can blame the whiskey for making me hallucinate all those lingering looks and loaded smiles.

The guy was probably just being friendly, and here I am acting like the protagonist of some Lifetime movie about misread signals.

"Sorry," I mumble, suddenly finding my shoes fascinating. Who knew the floor could be so interesting? Look at all those... floor things.

The silence stretches for what feels like three years but is probably closer to three seconds before Hayden breaks it with a laugh that rumbles through my chest like thunder.

"I'm totally hitting on you."

The relief that floods through me is... unexpected. And definitely needs to be examined at some point. Preferably never.

"Yeah?" What the actual fuck am I doing? The word slips out before I can stop it, and I realize I'm grinning. Quick, emergency facial reconstruction! I school my features into something hopefully less dumb and take a strategic sip of whiskey.

But damn if it doesn't feel good. Being wanted. Beingseen. Even if it's not... even if I'm not...

"You're a bit out of my league, anyway."

Well, damn. The guy's got more game than a PlayStation convention. I stand there awkwardly for a moment, suddenly very aware that I have no reason to continue this conversation. Mission failed successfully. Time to retreat.

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