Page 11 of Can't Get Enough

“Ahhhh. I like the sound of that.”

“You’ll love it. Galliano, white crème de cacao, and heavy cream.” He kisses his fingers to his lips. “Trust me on this one.”

I let a chuckle roll out, wiggling to settle on the barstool, and give a decisive nod. “Let’s do it.”

He slaps the bar. “Coming right up.”

While he prepares the drink, a few guests come by, laughing and fist-pounding me. Apparently I made some new friends on the dance floor. Cameo brings the people together.

“That was so much fun,” a blond girl I recognize from a Hulu sitcom says. “Been a long time since I danced like that.”

I smile, wave as she goes, and accept the drink the flirtatious bartender offers.

“Oooh, thank you,” I say, studying a glass of thick white liquid garnished with orange peel. “This looks fantastic.”

I take the first sip, meeting his expectant eyes with a moan. “Hmmm. So good.”

“Told you,” he says. A trio of girls fresh from the pool drip at the other end of the bar, summoning him over for their drink orders. “Lemme take care of them. Enjoy.”

I’m poised to pull out my phone and make sure I didn’t miss any calls, when I feel the weight of eyes on me. I turn my head and have to force myself not to whip right back around. There’s a man studying me intently, and he doesn’t look away or flinch when I catch him staring. I force myself to hold the intensity of the dark gaze flecked with curiosity.

The man is nothing so simple as handsome, an arrangement of features to please the eye. It’s the way he’s built that draws attention. He’s dark golden brown, skin the shades of sun and sienna. His hair is buzzed down close, brown, but glinting with gold above dark slashing brows, high cheekbones, and a luxuriant splay of lashes. His mouth is wide and his lips are full, framed by the bones of his face—hard, blunt, striking. Those eyes rest on me in an unwavering stare that might disconcert another woman. Me? I just stare right back, assessing him as much as he’s assessing me.

Tit, meet tat.

“Um, hello,” I say, lifting both brows. “Can I help you?”

He tilts his head, humor warming his gaze. “What makes you think I need help?”

“Not literal help.” I roll my eyes.

“Icanbe very literal,” he says with a chuckle.

“You were staring.”

“Was I?”

“You know you were.”

“I thought you had something right…” He gestures to his top lip.

“Oh, for real?” My hand flies to my mouth and I start wiping. “Did I get it?”

His lips twitch and he bends a little at the waist, laughter shaking the strong slope of shoulders beneath his white shirt. “Made ya look.”

I bite into my grin and feign indignation. “Wow. Real mature.”

“Says the woman who was standing on a table doing the electric slide.”

“It was not on a table, and nobody made you watch.”

His smile seems to waver a little, before locking back into place. “You were kind of hard to miss.”

I take a sip of my drink, clearing my throat and searching for a reply. “You should have come out there and danced with us.”

He swings around so that he’s facing my side and props his elbows on his knees, bringing him a little closer. His clean scent wafts between us. “I don’t dance.”

“Don’t or can’t?” I tease.

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