Page 2 of Mister Cowboy
“It isn’t completely unprecedented considering the amount of scotch I saw carried off to the back room tonight.” She flicked a casual hand to the back room. “Anyway, not too many men dressed in Armani come in and order a beer.”
One corner of his mouth turned up, and his shoulders shook with a silent laugh before he moved his gaze in the direction she’d pointed. She snuck a closer glimpse while his steeled stare was occupied. He had a hint of a five o’clock shadow along his jaw and cheekbones. His black hair was styled neatly, and the long ends twisted and curled around his ears. Moving her gaze down, she appreciated the way he filled out the suit. His biceps strained against the jacket, and his legs hinted at a pair of muscular thighs, probably the products of a lot of time spent in a gym.
“So, are you waiting for Mrs. Armani, or is it just the two of you tonight—you and your suit?”
He smiled, his whole face lighting up. “Afraid it’s only me and the suit. Interested in joining us back at my place?”
Taking a sip of the cool wine did nothing to extinguish the heat burning her cheeks. “Do you have a lot of success with that line?”
Chuckling softly, he shook his head. “I can promise that’s a line I’ve never used before.” He leaned in closer, the soft fabric of his suit jacket rubbing against her bare shoulder. “How’s it working?”
Michael appeared in front of them before she could respond and rapped his knuckle absentmindedly on the bar.
“So, what do you say, wanna try to go out to celebrate after I close the bar tonight?”
If only for a few moments, she’d completely forgotten about the disaster of a night she’d been having.
“I don’t think I’m up for it. In fact, I think this whole thing is a sign that I’m getting too old to make a big deal about celebrating my birthday.”
“If you think I’m letting you get away without celebrating, you’re crazy. You only turn twenty-nine once.” Michael smiled and rushed off again to the other side of the bar.
“It’s your birthday?”
Meeting his dark eyes, she was surprised to find them swirling with a friendly warmth.
“Yes,” she said, her tone more dramatic than she’d intended.
“Not big on birthdays?” he asked, angling his body toward her and leaning an elbow on the bar.
“It isn’t that.” She shook her head.
“Afraid you’re getting old?” he asked in a humored voice.
She leveled him with an annoyed glare. “Michael,” she said and tilted her glass in the direction her friend had gone, “was going to take the night off so we could go out, but some software company rented the back room for a party and ruined our plans.”
He paused, bottle perched below his lips. “I see.” He took a drink, and she swore a hint of amusement flashed across his features.
“Perhaps you could go out another night instead.”
“Yeah, it isn’t quite the same. We had plans to meet friends downtown for drinking and dancing, and now it’s all ruined for a lame work party. Anyway, it’s fine.”
He nodded, maybe in understanding or maybe in placation, and they fell into a comfortable silence. She struggled to find something to say to continue the conversation but disregarded idea after idea until she was left with:how about those Rockies?
She didn’t ask.
The sound of his empty bottle clanging against the wood made her shift in her seat, and panic told her not to let him walk away. She didn’t even know his name.
Again, she mentally scrolled through the many polite conversation starters that had been drilled into her from an early age. She’d practiced each often enough at fundraisers and parties during the years she had been forced to attend her father’s campaign events. As she worked out whether to mention the windy, bitter cold weather they were having—God, no—or ask what it was he did for a living—too personal—Michael appeared and cleared away the man’s empty beer bottle.
“Can I get you anything else, Mr. Blackstone?”
Nearly choking on the sip of wine in her mouth, she wanted to crawl under the bar in mortification. Perfect. Somehow the night had gotten worse.
“No thank you, Michael.” He handed Michael a card and turned back to face her with a big grin on his beautiful face.
“You’reBrecken Blackstone?” she asked, annoyed at the quiver in her voice.
He nodded, and his smile pulled higher, revealing a small dimple on one side of his mouth. She focused on that small feature instead of the fact she’d complained about her ruined night to the very man responsible for it. She was still staring as he slid from his seat saying, “I enjoyed talking with you, Miss...” He glanced down at her as Michael returned with his card.
