Page 10 of Enticing the Fixer

I wink and slide to the end of the bench seat. “You know I love a challenge. When someone says I can’t do something, I get an uncontrollable urge to do it. You said she’s not taken. She’s not a criminal. And what’s the harm in saying hi, unless she has crabs?”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head while muttering to himself. Then he opens his eyes. “You’re funeral. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Is she going to start speaking in tongues and rotate off the ceiling?”

“Don’t be a dumbass.” He digs his wallet out of his back pocket and tosses down the tip. “Like I said, I don’t know her, but she’s not your type. She’s the type to want white picket fences and happily ever afters. You can tell by the way she carries herself. That’s the opposite of what you’re looking for.”

“Then, I’ll be upfront with her.” I press my lips together. “I’m not looking for a relationship, and this weekend is all I have. If she’s not into that, I’ll head home.” I shove out my hand. “It was good to see you, Old Man.”

“Same.” His handshake is firm and efficient.

After he withdraws, he sobers. “Don’t fuck this up. This deal has a lot at stake.”

“I’ll have a report for you by the end of the week.” I might joke around, but I take my obligations to heart. If I accept a job, I’ll follow through.

“I’d almost like to stick around.” He tips his head toward the woman at the table and slides out of the booth. “To see her blow you off. But I’ve got to get home.”

Asshole.I glare at his back as he weaves through the crowd and disappears.I don’t strike out.But first, I need another drink.

Chapter Three

Kinsley

After I down my third Jungle Bird, the band sounds like we’ve been invited to a top award show, and the guy at the bar wearing a tight gray T-shirt and worn blue jeans looks like he’s made to wrap my thighs around.

“What are you doing?” Ann waves her hand in front of my face. “Earth to Kinsley.”

“What?” I blink and twist in my seat.Holy fuck. Was I that obvious?Heat floods my face. I used to be talented enough to ogle a guy and not have everyone in the bar notice. “Never mind.” I shake my head. “I was looking for the waitress.”

“She’s over there.” Ann points in the opposite direction. Our bubbly, too freaking young waitress smiles at a table of college-aged patrons and then giggles at something one of the backward cap-wearing guys says. His dimples pop when he smiles at her.

Ann’s eyes narrow into slits. “You weren’t looking for the waitress. You were staring at that new guy. The one at the bar talking to August, our new bartender.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “The one you said you weren’t interested in.”

“There’s a new bartender?” I wrinkle my nose and glance over my shoulder.

“That answers that question.”

“What question?”New bartender.My eyes widen as I inhale. I’m so bad at this. I didn’t even see the bartender. I glance at the guy behind the bar. Muscles on muscles. Cocky, alpha attitude. He’s sexy in a rugged way. Ann’s right about that. But he’s not as polished and sinful looking as the other guy.

Before I can turn back to beg for her forgiveness, The Guy, not August, rests his lower back against the bar and a little puddle of drool threatens to drop out of my mouth.God, he’s hot.

As he lifts the bottle of beer to his lips, he winks. At me. I swallow.Holy hell.

“God, I hate talking to drunk people,” Ann groans, and I twist to face her.

“What?”

She flips her hair over her shoulder. “You heard me. I hate talking with drunk people. You’re clearly checking this new guy out and only have eyes for him because you barely noticed August, and he’s stacked.”

“Fine.” I straighten in my seat and lick my lips in a valiant attempt to appear like I have my shit together. “The guy is….” Cute is too juvenile. He’s not a puppy. Adorable? Nope. Sexy? Closer. “Hot as fuck. Don’t you think?”

“Yes, I think he’s hot, but I’ve changed my mind. He’s not your type.”

“My type?” My shoulders tighten. “What does that mean?”

“He’s not like your ex. Jeffrey was blonde with blue eyes. An all-American guy. He was the equivalent of a plastic Ken doll and just as fake. This man looks like he’s as real as it gets.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” I tap my fingernails on the tabletop.

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