Page 9 of His Surrender
“Not everyone,” he said, the smile not only curving his lips but reflecting in his eyes as well. “Only the ones I like.”
“You barely know me.”
“I know enough to be interested.”
“Yeah? What makes you thinkI’minterested in you?” I could’ve laughed at the shock in his green eyes. I got the feeling not many people ever turned him down.
“So, youarestraight,” he said, more as a statement as opposed to a question. “I thought you might be, but I had a hunch you were at least bi. I’m usually better at reading people.”
The laugh I suppressed moments earlier came out then.
“What’s so funny?” Jay asked.
“It’s just funny that me not being into you automatically means I’m straight in your book.” Damn. I was being kind of a jerk, but I was tired of guys like Jay. Charmers and players.
“In my experience, it does.”
The ease in which he said that frustrated me further. How could someone be so confident? No,cocky. A small degree of cockiness could be kind of sexy, but too much made someone an asshole.
“Ah. Because you’re that irresistible, huh?” I tilted my head up, meeting his smoldering gaze. “Maybe you’re just not my type. Enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Foley.”
His mouth popped open, and I turned to walk back toward the stage.
Break time was over. The show had to continue. And the biggest show of all was the one I’d just played at the bar.
Jay Foley was one hundred percent my type. Which was exactly why I needed to steer clear of him.
Chapter 3
Jay
No one had ever spoken to me that way. I didn’t know how to react. Remington Barnett had slapped me in the face without even lifting a hand. That’s what it felt like anyway.
As he went back to the stage and sat down at the piano, I threw back the last of my whiskey and paid my tab at the bar.
You’re not my type.
The fuck I wasn’t. He’d practically undressed me with his eyes the entire time we were talking. His rejection had come out of nowhere. Once I finally bit the bullet and approached him—after way too many nights of us checking each other out but not doing a damn thing about it—he pulled that shit. Well, screw him.
I didn’t chase men; they chased me.
If Remi wasn’t interested, there were plenty of other men who were.
“You heading out already?” Brent asked. The waiter had been trying to get down my pants since the first time I’d come to the 906. I’d considered banging him, but he was way too young for me.
“Long day today,” I answered.
Remi looked over at us as he played, and he appeared way too engaged in my actions for someone whowasn’t interested.Did he know the waiter had a thing for me? Was that why a shadow crossed his face when eyeing the two of us standing close together and chatting?
“I get off in thirty minutes if you wanna hang around a bit longer.” Brent nibbled his bottom lip, his gaze traveling up and down my body.
The insinuation was crystal clear. A part of me wanted to take the cute waiter up on that offer too, if only to make the fedora-wearing, stubborn pianist jealous—one who looked away right as I glanced back at him.
However, despite how tempting it was, I couldn’t do it. Brent was too nice of a guy, and while I had no problem using men for sex, it wouldn’t feel right. Because it wouldn’t be sex that drove me; it’d be some kind of twisted revenge toward a man I had no claim to.
“As nice as that sounds, I’m gonna have to pass,” I told him.
“Oh.” His face fell. “Maybe next time, then.”
