Page 3 of Entangled

Come on now, guys, if you can’t look me in the eye then you shouldn’t be looking at all.

Taking a seat at the bar, I eye the selection of liquors in front of me, ignoring the tequila as if it’s poison and waiting for a bartender to appear.

Vodka or gin, vodka or gin, vodka or gin.

My mind mulls over the question while I wistfully regret not having snagged a few of my bold California cabs out of Stef’s cellar before making the trip out here. But then, I’d probably be at Gram’s house drinking alone and even I knew that wasn’t a good idea under my current circumstances. A door opens behind the bar drawing my gaze and I see the bartender finally appear, lugging a keg over to the taps.

I run my eyes over him in appreciation and am surprised as hell when I feel attraction flare to life at the sight of him. He’s tall, really tall, probably six-three, with a body covered in suntanned skin and crowned by dirty-blond hair that’s pulled back into a messy bun, a few strands escaping at the back. His build is lean and athletic, broad shoulders tapering down to a slim waist. A swimmer’s body if ever there was one. He’s dressed casually in faded jeans and a plain blue T-shirt, giving off a careless vibe. As if he knows he doesn’t have to put much effort into looking good. And to top it all off, an intricate tattoo winds up his right arm, almost covering the skin completely in black ink.

Small towns had gorgeous bartenders apparently. Who would’ve thought?

Point one for Landing Point.

He doesn’t notice me at first, focused on the task of hooking the keg up to the tap, which is fine by me. All the more time to ponder this surprising development. When he finally lifts his head and scans the bar, he stills when his eyes land on me.

“Be right with you,” he calls out, eyes lingering for a moment before returning to his task.

“No need to rush on my account. I’ve been enjoying the view.”

The words leave my mouth without thought, again, surprising the hell out of me, and I see his lips twitch in response.

It’s been so long since I flirted with anyone that part of me is genuinely shocked that I said anything at all, much less that it came again so effortlessly. That part of me that had loved to tease, to flirt, to play had died last summer on a beach in Costa Rica and I hadn’t really felt the urge since. Until today. Maybe my abused heart had finally healed enough to decide it was time to move on… or maybe it had finally withered away and died completely. At the moment, I didn’t particularly care which.

I watch him closely as he finishes hooking the keg up, wondering what makes him so special besides the obvious looks factor he has going for him.

He walks over while wiping his hands with a towel, lips pulling up into a welcoming grin. “What can I get for you?”

The moment our eyes meet, I feel the attraction spark between us, but then my mind stutters to a halt. The breath leaves my body as I stare into the depths of eyes so damn similar tohis. Memories flood, pulling me under as waves crash through my mind.

“To drink?” he prompts, grin growing and dimples flashing at my apparent inability to form words at his appearance.

“Vodka soda. Two limes,” I rattle off quickly, trying to shake off the sense of déjà vu as we continue to eye one another. My attraction reluctantly grows as I take in the rest of his face now that I’ve made it past the shock of his eyes. High cheekbones sit underneath his playful almond-shaped eyes while blond brows just a touch darker than his hair rest above them. His lips are a warm-rose color, the definition around them impossible for most girls to achieve with liner. A well-defined jaw and nose that looks like it might have been broken at some point only serves to accentuate his face even more. Everything about him screams carefree sensuality, evoking thoughts of deliciously unhurried pleasure.

And while every female part of me was responding to what I saw, that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. The last thing I needed during this trip was another ghost haunting me. I had enough of them here already.

Pulling my eyes from him somewhat reluctantly, I search the counter for a menu while scoffing at myself internally. Of course. Of course the one guy I was actually attracted to after my year of celibacy had to have eyes that reminded me ofhim.

I really was a therapist’s wet dream.

“Does this place happen to have a good burger?” I ask, coming up empty in my search for a menu and trying to distract myself from the direction of my thoughts.

“The best in town.”

“Great, I’ll take one of those too.”

“You are twenty-one, right?” He eyes me in a speculative manner, hesitating as he reaches for the vodka.

Probably because of my damn meltdown at seeing his eyes.

You cannot go through the rest of your life having a breakdown every time you meet someone with green eyes, El.

“Twenty-three actually.” I throw him a bratty smirk. “And didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to ask a woman’s age?”

“She did.” He shrugs, flashing those dimples at me again. “But you look just on this side of being a coed, so I had to ask.”

“And how old are you?” I retort dryly. The guy doesn’t look a day over twenty-eight.

“Twenty-five, if you must know.” His eyes drift to mine again while he fills the mixer with soda. “No need to worry about me being legal,” he adds with a playful wink.

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