Page 14 of Captive Audience
“Just so you know, I’m only here because myex–best friends forced me to come talk to you.”
He arched one brow while a barely perceptible smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Did they?”
“Unfortunately. I’d really appreciate it if you could minimize my embarrassment by telling me you’re not interested as quickly as possible so I can leave you in peace.”
“What if I want you to stay?”
“You do?” I blinked rapidly, hoping it’d stop my world from spinning. It didn’t.
He gestured to the spot opposite him. “Sit, pet. I don’t bite.”
I sat before I got cold feet, and not knowing what to do with my hands, placed them in my lap. His cologne hit me, rich and woodsy with a hint of smoke. Damn, even his scent was unfairly attractive.
“Are you Irish?” I asked.
“Aye.”
That accent sounded like sex dipped in honey. I couldn’t remember the last time someone’s voice made my toes curl.
“Visiting?” I asked, just to keep him talking. I was greedy to hear more of that delicious brogue.
“Started that way. Been living here two years now.”
No empty glasses were at the table to indicate anyone else had sat with him. Perhaps whomever he was meeting hadn’t arrived yet.
“Are you waiting for someone?” I asked.
“No.”
“You just came here to drink on your own?”
“Not exactly. Can I be honest with you?”
“Of course.”
“I was across the street and saw you walk in here. You caught my attention, and I couldn’t help myself. Had to come in for a closer look.”
He couldn’t be serious. “Really?”
“Did you notice me staring at any other women?”
And I was officially deceased. McHottie had come in here because of me? Surely I was living in some alternate universe where my dreams turned into reality.
“Do you make a habit of stalking women?”
“No. Only you.”
“I admire a stalker who’s faithful.” I glanced over my shoulder at Daisy and Beth, unsurprised to find them watching and not trying to hide it. When I faced McHottie again, I scrunched my nose. “I don’t normally do this sort of thing.”
“Have a drink with your stalker?”
“Pfft.” I waved him off. “I do that all the time. I mean approach men in bars.”
“Why not?”
“Are you kidding me? It’s terrifying. It’s much easier to arrange a date online, where there’s no threat of someone taking one look at me and telling me to beat it.”
He lifted his glass, and the movement drew my attention to the ink sprawled across his hand and forearm. Blocky letters, bold and unapologetic, spanned his knuckles.CROIon the right,DUBHon the left. I didn’t need a translation to know it meant something deeply personal.
