Page 9 of The Seven Month Itch
He leans in with an infectious grin and lowers his voice. “I would never make someone like you wait.”
Someone like me?Oh, he’s good.
A man like this has zero trouble with the ladies. I know it, and so does he. It wouldn’t surprise me if women slapped their panties on the bar as a tip or lined up to play with his. He has to model on the side, with that styled golden hair and chiseled jawline. Those blue eyes must sparkle on camera.
Brad Pitt. He reminds me of a young Brad Pitt. Hints of ash brown hair dust his chin. My eyes track the glide of his tongue from one corner of his mouth to the other. He’s still staring at me, and based on the hunger in his eyes, he hasn’t eaten in days.
“Penny for your thoughts?” God, why am I blushing?
His eyes drop to my lips. “Thinking about what I want to do to you.”
My eyes widen when they meet his. Oh, he’s serious. Is this how people talk now?Hey, how are you? Bend over.I need to phone a friend for dating advice. I’m so out of practice.
He watches my attempt at another sip with an intensity that makes my hands tremble.
“You?—you’re very forward.” I swallow to force out the words. “I bet you say this to all the ladies.”
That’s right, play it cool.
Ten bucks says he puts women in the hospital with his bedroom antics, gives them carpal tunnel from gripping the sheets too hard, and knocks them through the headboard and into next week. They end up in the ER, and he’s onto his next victim by breakfast.
Silence lingers before he shrugs. “I could bullshit you and say no, but you’re too smart for that.”
I nod.
His eyes drop to my mouth. “I like to fuck. No strings, no commitments.” He leans into my ear and whispers, “I promise you a night of orgasms you’ll never forget.”
It takes a silent pep talk to wrap my hands around my glass and not fan my face with cocktail napkins.
Jesus.
Part of me wants to throw caution to the wind for once in my life. To say eff it and let someone worship me, even if it’s for my body and for only one night. To bewantedagain.
He’s now inches from my face. His eyes drift down to my lips, and is it me, or does the room start to spin? “Um…wow.” A clumsy laugh falls out. “As tempting as the offer is—”
“West.”
“One-night stands aren’t my thing, West.” That, and my heart is still in knots over my ex even though I pretend it’s not. Hot mess central right here. “I’m sure you’ll find someone who will take you up on your offer.”
“Okay then. Had to try.” He stands up straight and taps the counter with his knuckles. “If you change your mind while you’re here, I’ll be at most of these events.”How convenient.I smile with a nod before he heads to the other side of the bar.
If this is what’s in store for me this week,Imight have a stroke.
A hand squeezes my shoulder when I move to get off the stool. My eyes follow the hairy paw attached to a man on a phone. He has salt-and-pepper hair and wears a suit that makes him look like he’ll sell you a Cutlass Supreme and a carton of cigarettes. I suspect the Gordon Gekko comb-over is an attempt to hide the fact that some of his hair went off to be with the Lord. He’s not unattractive, but he gives creepy-uncle vibes.
“You look like you need another drink.” My nose wrinkles at his greasy smile. “What are you having?”
“A manhattan, but I’m good, thanks.” I lift my glass to swirl the contents still inside.
He pauses. “A manhattan? That’s a man’s drink, sweetheart.”
My face tightens. What era is this asshat from?
This drink holds a special place in my heart. It reminds me of my grandfather and the nightcap he and my dad would have during his visits. I fell asleep to the clink of ice in tumblers and the laughter that reached my bedroom from my dad’s study. The tradition continued with Terrence after Grandpa passed, and it’s my cocktail of choice to keep his memory alive.
I stand to my full five-feet-six-inch height—six feet with these heels squeezing my toes for dear life—and slam my glass on the counter. “There’s no such thing as a ‘man’s drink.’” Every ounce of disgust I feel wraps itself in my tone, the same way these shoes are mummifying my feet. I need to leave, for the sake of my circulation and not making a scene.
He grins and stretches out his hand. “I’m Warner, and you are?”
