Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
He doesn’t look like the rest of the crowd. With disheveled brown hair, he has a freshly fucked look. The type of look that’s my own kryptonite. I’ll never know why I find it so attractive in a man, but lord, do I like it.
His face is chiseled to perfection with a five-o’clock shadow dusting it. He’s stunning in a male model sort of way, yet still rugged at the same time.
He doesn’t seem to notice anyone as he makes his way to the bar. Once he’s beside me, our gazes lock, and I swear the breath is knocked out of my body by the striking color of his blue eyes. They shimmer with a cold depth that reminds me of glacial ice.
Holy hell.
This man is perfection.
I can’t even take my eyes off him.
There’s no question I need to. It’s becoming obvious that I’m gawking, but he doesn’t seem affected at all by my pathetic display. Nope, instead of acknowledging me, he signals to the bartender to order a drink.
“Whiskey, neat.” His gravelly voice makes chills run up my spine.
Now closer, I clock his age as older than me. Much older.
He’s got to be in his early thirties, and at barely twenty-two years old, I must look like a baby deer trying to walk to him.
It doesn’t matter because I’ve already decided this man will be my distraction for the night.
I tip the shot back and take it all in one smooth gulp, savoring the burn.
Here goes nothing.
5
JOSIE
“Come here often?” I ask as the gorgeous man slides onto the stool next to mine.
The line is absolutely ridiculous, probably one of the worst pickup lines ever, but in a situation like this, ridiculous is necessary.
As I said, I need a distraction, and he’s perfect.
“What?” His voice is smooth like honey, a sound that makes your mouth water with the promise of how good it will taste.
“I said, come here often?” I rest my chin on my fist, tilting my head to the side. He blinks at me, mouth opening and shutting. “It’s a pickup line if you must know,” I retort, not even trying to hide my sarcasm.
His chuckle is a deep, rich sound that makes my knees feel weak. “Now that’s one way to do it.”
I shrug, taking a sip from my drink. “I figure I can cut to the chase. That way, we both know what I’m angling for.”
Who am I? I’ve never been quite this forward. But when in Rome or, in this case . . . my version of hell.
“Are you even old enough to drink?”
I’m not sure how I feel about that comment. It sounds like a brush-off if I’ve ever heard one.
“Well, seeing as I was already carded, it would appear so.” I lift my glass to get my point across.
He studies me closely, but I can’t read him. It’s unnerving.
“Are you always this blunt?” he finally responds.
I roll my eyes. “Are you always this grumpy?”
He just stares at me, and I wonder if he’ll respond when he finally does. “Actually, yes,” he admits.
It makes me giggle. Great, not only did he just call me young, but here I am, giggling like a schoolgirl. Talk about cliché.
“Wow, was that hard to admit?”
He cocks his head as if to think about his answer and then says, “Not really.”
That makes me full out laugh this time. “Now that we have that out of the way, and we’ve yet to establish if you come here often, I think I’ll change direction and see if I can get some answers from you.”
His lips purse, but he allows me to continue. “What brings you here?”
“What brings you here?” he fires back.
I smirk. “Oh, avoiding my question with a little deflection. I can tell I’m going to like you.” I turn toward the bar and wave down the woman for another drink. “I came for the expensive booze and the minibar snacks in my hotel room. Now it’s your turn.”
“I needed a distraction.” His low voice reminds me of a storm brewing in the background. A feeling I know all too well.
“Rough night? Or rough day?” I ask on a sigh.
“Both, and you?”
I nod in understanding because, same. “Me too, actually. A better word might be soul-crushing.” I shrug. “Maybe we’re kindred spirits.”
“It does seem that way.” He lets out a grunt.
Silence engulfs us, and perhaps my night of distraction isn’t meant to be. It appears that I got ahead of myself. Just as I’m about to order another drink and then duck out, disappointed with my tail between my legs, the bartender returns with another drink for the broody stranger.
“I hate crappy days,” I murmur, mostly to myself.
He raises his glass and takes a swig. “I’ll drink to that.”
I raise mine in the air, not one to leave another hanging, and take a gulp. “I also hate spiders.”