Page 17 of The Best of Us

Literally.

The way the sun was hitting her back, she was glowing.

I held my hand up, signaling to the bartender to hold off on the order. I fixed my slouched position, standing to my full height, and faced the beautiful woman. “And what do you recommend?”

“Hmm.” She rolled her lips inward, eyes on the bottles as if deep in thought. “I think for a man like you, you’d enjoy Legacy Ridge.” She gave me the gift of her full attention again.

I took off my Aviators and hooked them to the front of my polo, needing a clearer view of her eyes, which were the most stunning shade of green I’d ever seen. “A man like me, huh?”

She discreetly pointed at John on the other side of the U-shaped bar, flirting with the woman I’d so-called saved a few minutes earlier.

“Oh.” I shrugged. “You saw that, huh?”

“Maybe.” She smiled, showing her teeth, and what a fucking smile.

Damn.

“So, tell me, oh-wise-one,” I teased, “why that one? What’s special about it?”

She keyed in on a bottle of Legacy Ridge sitting by itself on the top shelf. “Aged for ten years in Kentucky. Hints of toffee, orange peel, a little honey, leather, and oak.”

I waited for her eyes to return to mine before I asked, “And how do you know so much about bourbon? You a fan?”

“I’m actually not much of a drinker.” She raised her glass. “This is lemonade.”

For a non-drinker, she knew an awful lot about whiskey.

“Pretty lame of me since I’m here for my twenty-first birthday party, right?” She’d dodged my question about the bourbon, and I didn’t even care. As long as she kept talking and looking at me, she could discuss the art of war or a prostate exam.

“Well, happy birthday.” Twenty-one felt too young for me, even though I was only twenty-six, but like hell was I walking away from her.

“Thank you.” When she brought the straw between her lips and sucked, my thoughts escalated from innocent to filthy.

How many hours did we have until I had to leave again?

Without hesitation, I ordered two glasses of Legacy Ridge. One for myself and one for Miss Kentucky. Based on her accent, I had to believe she was from there, especially given her bourbon knowledge.

I was about to give her my name and offer her a polite handshake (rather than revealing the dirty thoughts in my head), but she waved me off.

Damn, rejected?My right hand landed on the counter at my side as the bartender slid over the tumblers.

“Sorry.” She lowered her lemonade and tucked her blonde hair behind her ears. “I’d just rather remain, well . . . strangers?”

Strangers with a question mark, huh?Hell, I’d take whatever she’d give me.

“I leave in the morning . . . and I shouldn’t even be here with finals next week. My friends dragged me here with the help of my dad . . . surprise birthday party and all.”

All the nervous pauses made me anxious, and I wasn’t someone to ever feel that way. Jumpy wasn’t an excellent quality when you often found yourself inside enemy lines, being shot at. “Where are your friends? Shouldn’t they be celebrating with you?”

“They ditched me for some hotties. Their words, not mine.”

“What kind of friends abandon you on your birthday?” I grunted, insulted on her behalf.

“The kind that study way too much and have no life like me. So, they needed one fun and wild weekend, and believe me, they deserve it.”

Well then.I lifted the two glasses and offered her one, but she declined as fast as she’d turned down my handshake.

“Whatever choices I make next, I’d rather they be all mine and not alcohol induced.”

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