Page 103 of Play With Me

I bet he’s American.

While the bartender pours his beer, I sneak a peek.

The man is large all right, and wearing an impeccably tailored dark suit. He’s looking down at something, has got a swoop of auburn hair, along with a neatly trimmed beard, and on his broad hand on the counter, no wedding ring. His fingers though, they’re rough. Scarred. The faintest hint of grease in the creases of his knuckles. A mechanic, maybe? But why’s he in a gorgeous suit at a bar?

At this point, my interest is more investigative than anything else. What’s this guy’s story?

I think of Jude’s hands: his long, tapered fingers and neatly clipped nails. They look sexy when he holds anything. Especially parts of me.

Focus.

Nerves schism in my stomach. I should say something. I should be flirtatious. This is just practice. I close my book, angle my legs sideways, and cross one knee over the other, my heeled foot dangling. I’m about to open my mouth when I see an angry blond man striding toward me.

He’s still wearing his parka and boots from outside, which makes him look a lot wider than he is.

“Excuse me,” he says, dropping in on the seat on my opposite side. “What the fuck are you doing sitting here on your own looking sexy as fuck without me?”

I can’t tell if he’s joking or actually angry.

The man on the other side of me makes a coughing sound and lowers his beer. Is he laughing?

I turn to Jude, keeping my voice low. “Okay, buddy. Since when are you Mr. Possessive?”

“Since you told me you were going on a fucking date, Nora. Are you with this fucking guy?”

My stomach clenches. “Jude! Shh!” I glance toward the man on my other side, but he’s looking down at his phone. Is that a smile on his face? I can’t tell. He’s still turned slightly the other way. “No. I’m not.” I lean in. “Also, that guy looks like he could probably kill you, so maybe keep your voice down? Where’s Farrah and Cap?”

“They’re having dinner. So you’re not on a date?”

I meet his eye. “You missed dinner?”

“I went to the restaurant, made sure that fucker wasn’t some kind of psychopath. I’m going to pick them up in an hour. You didn’t answer my question.”

“What?”

Jude looks at me, his eyes narrowed. “You’re not on a date? You were just fucking with me?”

“I am on a date, Jude, with myself, and you just crashed it. You know you don’t get any say over whether I was on a proper date though, right?”

Jude looks taken aback. “Why not?”

Exasperation runs through me, but I’m keenly aware of that guy so close to us, very likely able to hear every word we’re saying.

“Can we have this conversation later?” I whisper.

“Why?”

I grit my teeth. “Jude, seriously? Have you always—”

“Yes,” the man on my right says.

We both turn his way.

“My brother’s always been this dense.”

He turns and fully faces this way for the first time, and that’s when my jaw drops.

“Griffin?” Jude says, incredulous.

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