Page 15 of Our Little Cliche
And it may or may not be stowed in my pocket right now.
Am I stupid?
I can’t let a woman like her walk away. I can’t let her leave. I need to?—
“Mmmhmm,” Quinn groans. How long he had been standing there I didn’t know but at least he’s come with goods—my martini. I guzzle it down, olives included without letting it touch the sides before tossing the glass back at him. “Andwhowas that?”
Mine, that’s who.
Chapter Seven
HOLLY
I haveneverneededa drink more in my entire life than I do right this very second, but my bank account says no, so instead I pant, trying to catch my breath.
Is it hot in here?
Oh, my god, it’s so hot in here.
And no, I’m not hot because of those damn bloody stairs I had to climb up with a stupid bag that has buggered wheels, no thanks to stupid airlines breaking them, causing my bag to spill its guts all over the place. No, no, that would be too simple. It’s because I have just run into quite possibly the sexiest man on the planet, no… heisthe sexiest man on the planet, and I don’t think my heart will ever stop pounding over whatever the heck just happened back there.
That man—wherever he’s gone to—has sent me into a full blown brain malfunction. Is this the gene pool of men I have to look forward to in Canada? And, if it is,why haven’t I come here sooner?
I glance around the place to check if the other men here are of equal quality.Uhh, well that’s a big fat nope.The pub is packed… but with women, lots of women. There must be somekind of event on. Actually, thinking back to when I walked in I do remember seeing a sign or banner or something, but I can’t remember what.
I strum my fingers on the bar, and drift into a daze about the nerdy buff guy. I should have accepted the offer for a drink with him, but I guess it’s probably a good thing. Stranger danger and all. Plus he looked at me like I was his next meal. Not in a serial killer kind of way or anything. Intimidating, yes. But I wasn’t scared, not even a little. The only thing I was scared about was if he could tell I had love hearts bubbling out of my eyes like an anime character, or that I’d self lubricated between the legs for him.
No man has ever looked at me the way he did. I’ve read aboutthatlook in books before, but never experienced it in real life. I didn’t even know it was a real thing. Not until he came along. And for a split second, there was nothing in me that would have tried to stop him if he wanted to have his way with me then and there.
Well, whoever he was made Adam look like a Temu product. Compared to the new mystery man, Adam is at maximum a 0.1 on the hunk scale, mystery guy is a solid eleven out of ten… a hundred and eleven, actually. He had been immaculately dressed with a dark gray, pinstriped suit, a black tie and a red handkerchief in his blouse pocket. His hair was a stunning, rich coffee color, buzzed at the sides with volume at the top, and slicked back.
But what caught me off guard the most, were his thick, black nerdy glasses that made him a delicious combination of cute and sexy as hell. It’s safe to say that I thought that guy was straight out of a fantasy book. He is a living form of the men in mycliteraturecollection—my romance books. Attentive. Bold. Brave. Tall. Handsome. Masculine. Gentle. Kind, and smart. A man with eyes on me the whole time, as if I had him hooked to aleash and collar. Caught somewhere between a golden-retriever-nerdy-gentleman and a dirty-filthy-sex-god.
A man like him would break a sheila like me clean in half—he was huge! Surely about six foot three, and was practically as wide as he was tall. All muscles, but not gym muscle, these were real muscles.
The guy even had aninsanelyerotic voice for god’s sake. I’ve heard my fair share of sexy men, even moaning ones—thanks to audio books. But this was different. His thick, Canadian accent pumped through my veins like a narcotic. Smooth like butter, melting my knees at every word. Actually, he didn’t even need to say words, my legs gave way anyway just from his bare presence.
“Hello?” Fingers snapping in my face catches my attention. “Hello?”
Bloody hell, Holly. Get a grip. Focus.
I fixate my dazed attention on the bartender. “Can I get you a water? Coffee? Taxi?” he asks.Why does it sound like he’s pitying me?“You’ve been sat like that for a while. Are you good?”
Just star-struck is all.
“Yeah, mate. Sorry. I’ll just have a water, please.”
“A what?” he asks, dumbfounded.
“A water?”
“I’m not sure we havewah-dah. Can you explain it? I’ll try and make it for you.”
Is he for real?
Am I speaking another language or is he hard of hearing?
“Water… it’s H2O, mate.”
