Page 35 of 28 Dates

I turn on my stool and paste on a smile. “Hi, that’s me. Logan?” I’m already holding out my hand for him to shake because it has to be him. He looks exactly like his profile pic on PerfectMatch. Thank goodness. Score one for honesty.

He’s clean-cut with his light brown hair nicely and professionally trimmed. There isn’t a hint of a five o’clock shadow. The pale blue polo shirt he’s wearing is neatly tucked into jeans; both are casual and well-fitting.

He’s cute with a great smile. He flashes it to me while he takes my hand. “Yeah. That’s me. Nice to meet you. Sorry I’m late, it took me a few minutes to find parking.”

“That can definitely be a problem around the city. Thanks for coming down here to meet.”

He rests his arms on the bar, the stool next to him now taken so there isn’t anywhere for him to sit. His smile is just as friendly as he replies, “I’ll go anywhere with a woman as pretty as you.”

I can’t help it. A slow heat starts at my throat, and I shake my head before it spreads to my cheeks where my blushing will be obvious to him.

“You’re sweet,” I say instead.

“Can be.” He shrugs and lifts his hand to Tucker, who has noticed my date has arrived. “Sometimes I can be a dick like anyone else, though.”

“Getting honest before our drinks show up? That’s a first.” I tease him and it feels natural. The way he holds himself and the things we’ve spoken about already make this easy.

But that’s all it is. Easy. Friendly banter and companionship. I know it from our first touch. He’s freaking gorgeous in a manly way without being overly brute. And I already know he’s intelligent. Now I can add honest.

“Ready for that drink, Caitlin?” Tucker asks as he reaches us.

“So, would asking if you come here often be a lame question right now?” Logan asks.

I shrug. “Yeah. This is myCheers.”

“Ah. An eighties reference,” he hums. “I like it. Nice.” He digs out his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a credit card, pressing it to the bar. “Logan Atwater,” he says to Tucker. “Nice to meet you. Get this lady whatever she likes, and start a tab for us, please.”

Ohhhh…Manners with a side of bossy. Me likey.

“Will do.” Tucker picks up the card, and his eyes slide to me. “Drink?”

“Extra dry with vodka, double olives.”

“Nice,” he says. “Something new.”

“I’m adventurous,” I reply, and I’m smiling because Tucker is shaking his head like I’m an idiot, and even Logan is grinning at me like I’ve said the best joke he’s heard all day.

“I like this,” he says and turns to Tucker. “I know this is a martini bar, but do you have any India pale ales in bottles?”

“Got thirty-two of them. Name what you like and I guarantee we carry it.”

Logan rattles off the name of a brand I’ve never heard of before, and Tucker slaps the bar. “Nice beer. We have it. Be back in a sec.”

As soon as he’s gone, already pouring my drink with the fervor of a well-trained bartender, Logan slides in closer. He leans against the bar, facing me, close enough that we can talk, still out of my personal space bubble. His eyes do a sweeping motion around Dirty’s before returning to me with an amused smirk. “So, you’re an adventurer with your drinks, and you come to a martini bar often enough to joke with the bartender.”

“To be honest, I come here because it’s close to home so I can always walk if I need to. And this place is cool. Found it one day when I was out for a lunch a few years ago, came back, met the workers, kept coming back…”because I started sleeping with the head bartender now owner.I’m smart enough to at least leave that out.

“I suppose if someone as pretty as you has their ownCheerslocale, it should be in a cool place like this. I dig it. Never heard of it until you mentioned it. But it’s got a great vibe.”

It does. It’s chilled and rustic with splashes of elegance. A rich-sounding menu, but it’s affordable and the music is perfect. Not too jazzy, not hip-hop. It’s enough to keep you happy and swaying to the beat, but no one’s going to break out in a group-wide karaoke song anytime soon.

Tucker brings us back our drinks and leaves, sliding them close to us without saying a thing before turning to his next customer. Logan slides my glass closer to me so I don’t have to reach far.

“You’re a gentleman,” I say, once I’ve taken my first sip. “I bet you open doors for ladies, give them the best seat in a restaurant, and always walk nearest the street when you’re walking them safely home, don’t you?”

He’s holding his beer to his lips, and by the time I’m done, his shoulders are shaking. “What?”

“You’re a gentleman.”

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