Page 1 of One Night Only
CHAPTER 1
EMILY
My first thought as I walk into the nondescript hole in the wall in SoHo is that I am too old for this shit. It’s a Tuesday night. I should be at home, in my pajamas, watching the latest episode ofThe Real Housewives. Instead, here I am, walking up to a bar tended by some mustachioed hipster wearing a bowtie and suspenders, tugging on the hem of my too tight, too short dress, trying not to look as if I’ve been stood up on a date I didn’t even want to go on in the first place. I swear, I am going to kill my sister; she’s the one who convinced me to try online dating for the first time in my thirty-five years. Whatever happens tonight is all Tess’s fault.
Tossing my purse onto the countertop, I take a seat on one of the stools at the end of the long bar, scanning the dimly lit space—for who, I don’t even know. Some guy named Jake. A thirty-seven-year-old advertising executive who apparentlyknows how to treat a woman right, if his online dating profile is even legitimate.
Jake DM’d me earlier to tell me he’d meet me at nine p.m.—which was far too late for a Tuesday, in my opinion—and that he’d be wearing a blue suit. But he’s either unacceptably late, orhe walked in, took one look at me, and ran. Either way, this is so humiliating.
I pull my phone from my purse to check the time, ready to send Tess a piece of my mind, when I’m interrupted.
“How you doing, darlin’?”
The southern accent sounds far too close to my ear not to be directed at me, so naturally, I turn, glancing over my shoulder, and holy shit. I almost topple right off my stool.
The first thing I notice is his height. He’s got to be six-foot-something. Then, it’s his eyes. A penetrative emerald green gaze that pierces straight through me, framed by enviably thick lashes. High cheek bones, a strong jaw, and a set of lips most women would kill for, all topped off with golden brown hair, short at the back and sides and longer on top, in a state of stylish disarray.
He’s… hot. There’s actually no other word to describe him. I can’t help but look around like perhaps he might be talking to someone behind me because surely he can’t be talking to me. But when I see there’s no one else within earshot, I turn back toHottie McGottie, clearing my throat, nervously tucking a lock of my chin-length hair behind my ear. “Um… hi?”
As if he can sense my uncertainty, he offers a grin, complete with dimples and a smile so boyish it totally contradicts the smoldering look in his eyes. “Can I get you a drink?”
“I-I, um…” I shake my head in an attempt to try and jolt myself into remembering how to function like a normal human, clearing my throat yet again. “I’m sorry, what?”
A low chuckle reverberates from his chest as he moves even closer, his voice deep and throaty, borderline indecent. “Can I get you a drink?”
I quirk a brow. “D-do you work here?” It really is the first thing that pops into my head, because there’s no way a guy who looks likethiswould voluntarily offer to getmea drink.
“Uh… no.” He looks around like my question has confused him and I mentally kick myself while lifting my chin in the hope that I at least give off the vibe of a grown ass woman in complete control of her life.
“I’ll take a… a cabernet,” I say with a casual shrug, like I get asked to be bought a drink by gorgeous men every Tuesday night.
He flashes me a wink that does things to my insides I’m not willing to admit, raising a big hand in the air for the bartender. And, while he places the order, I take the opportunity to get a better look at him.
The white button-down he’s wearing fits him like a glove, the material pulling taut around the defined muscles in his arms and shoulders. Gray tweed slacks tug in all the right places, showcasing a set of strong thighs and, from where I’m sitting, an ass that looks as if it was sculptured out of marble. And I’m no shoe expert, but the loafers on his feet look expensive and… big. Size fourteen at least.
“One cabernet.”
I startle, looking up to see him grinning at me, a glass of red in his hand.
“I have to be honest,” he says with a shy smile. “I had no idea what I was even asking for.”
I eye the generic bottle of beer in his other hand and don’t doubt that for one second.
“Thanks.” I accept the wine, holding his mischievous gaze as I take a sip, humming in appreciation.
As he takes a pull from his beer, that green gaze trails deliberately up and down my body, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat with a swallow before he says, “I’m Dallas.”
So, the hottie with the Texan accent is named Dallas? I’mdead. Catching my breath, I place my glass down onto the counter so I don’t drop it, my hands suddenly shaky. And clammy. I need to get a goddamn grip.
“I’m Emily.”
“Nice to meet you, Emily.” With the mouth of his bottle resting against his lips, he flashes me the kind of smile I’m sure has the power to make panties fall to the floor en masse. And don’t even get me started on that southern drawl.
“So, Emily?” He leans forward, so close I’m lost within the scent of his cologne; it’s spicy and chocolatey and something else that makes my mouth water. “What brings you here tonight?”
Oh, crap. It’s at that moment, while openly swooning like a lovesick teenager, that I remember exactly why I’m here. I’m here because my meddling little sister thinks I need to get back on the proverbial horse and start dating again. I only agreed to this so I could get her off my back. In my opinion, men fucking suck; I’d rather date myself.
“Well, actually,” I begin, shifting awkwardly in my seat, “I’m waiting for someone. A date.” Of course, I don’t add that this is my firstdatein almost eleven years. No one needs to know that.
