[Continued: To start at the beginning, click here.]
He wore a black T-shirt beneath a weathered leather jacket that looked like it might have been brown at one time but had faded to a distressed shade of beige. Jeans hugged his long legs and a whole lot of masculine mojo followed him like fanfare.
He took a seat in the corner, seeming to pull all the shadows in around him. The observation was so strange that it made her pause.
“What can I get for you?” she asked, setting a cocktail napkin in front of him.
“Wild Turkey,” he ordered in a smoky voice that teased her a step closer.
He was ridiculously attractive with all that dark, brooding attitude and he-man brawn. In contrast, he had the longest eyelashes she’d ever seen. Thick and black, they framed smoldering eyes the color of midnight.
“Please,” he tacked on when she stood there staring.
Embarrassed, she asked, “Straight up or on the rocks?”
“In a glass,” he answered with a bewildered frown.
She might have laughed if he hadn’t seemed so serious.
“That’s generally where we pour them,” she said. “The floor is just too messy.”
His startled expression became a slow grin that made her blush to her roots. He was that good-looking.
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