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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