Page 5 of Anyone But the Superstar

Yep, just as I thought. Johnny-boy is one handsome man. Seriously so. A sense of familiarity hits me, and I lean closer as if that will help me understand it.

His eyes flit to mine, and seeing me near and intent, he looks away again, shifting the shoulder closest to me forward, as if embarrassed by my interest. ‘Must be out of practice.’ His laugh is less than enthusiastic.

I’d bet the money I used to have that there’s a flush under his whiskers.

Regretting teasing him, I nudge his hitched shoulder with mine. ‘I think I might believe in serendipity.’

He rolls his eyes but gives me a half-smile, if the twitch of his beard is any indication.

‘Seriously.’ I turn my near-empty glass in my hands. ‘If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.’ I tap a finger on the bar. ‘Not just in the bar, but in Houston.’

‘Yeah?’ John turns to face me again, his embarrassment hopefully forgotten. ‘Why are you here then?’

‘Work.’

He nods, thankfully not probing further. ‘Is work more exciting than hairless pussies?’

I choke on my next sip. ‘Just one hairless cat.’ I hold up a finger, laughing. ‘Remember, Thomas’ pussy has hair.’

‘Ah, yes.’ He nods, his solemness cut short by a flash of white teeth. ‘How could I have forgotten hairy King Dick Moore?’

The bartender stops again on the other side of the bar, making us snicker.

When our laughter fades, I nudge John with my shoulder again. ‘Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I’m out of practice too.’

John’s dark eyes glide over my hair, my chest, my legs and back up where he meets my eyes and scoffs. ‘Uh huh.’

It’s my turn to flush. But it isn’t embarrassment that causes it.

His blatant disbelief boosts a confidence I hadn’t realized I’ve been lacking.

It’s been over a year since I’ve been on a date, let alone had sex. And the sex I hadbeforemy life imploded had been polite, awkward intercourse with men, boys really, who were too aware of whomyfather was, ortheirfather was, to allow me to really let go. As if the details of my sex life might somehow get back to Stanley Winston Moore and I’d therefore be subject to ridicule and critique by failing to meet his elite and lofty standards once again.

Even now that I’m away from the constant scrutiny, I’m still holding myself back. Still dealing with the fallout of one present parent’s past choices and one former parent’s current ones. I’ve been so busy trying to figure out who I am, in addition to what I want to do, that I haven’t flirted, dated or even indulged in anything other than too much self-pity this past year.

John finishes his beer, his throat working as he swallows the last drop.

But now… now I’m feeling all kinds of parched for the thirst I’d inadvertently denied myself.

‘So, John.’ I prop my elbow on the bar and face him.

I watch the right side of his lips quirk up. ‘Yeah, Anne?’

‘Sinceyou’reout of practice?—’

He huffs a laugh.

‘—andI’mout of practice,’ I raise my feet to rest them on the bar stool’s lower rung, my knees resting against his right thigh. ‘Why don’t we help each other out and practice together?’

He looks down at where our bodies touch, my thighs tightening under his gaze. ‘It seems you’ve already started.’ Resting his right hand on one of my knees pressed against him, he squeezes. ‘That’s what Texans call a false start.’

I snort, rolling my eyes at how stereotypical it is for a Texan to reference football. ‘You throwing a flag?’ Mentally, I pat myself on the back for knowing that tidbit of sports knowledge.

‘Hell, no.’ John signals the bartender for the tab. ‘I may be out of practice but I’m not stupid.’

Unlike his previous drinking neighbor, John’s raised arm reveals a smart watch. I guess even cowboys like to keep track of their steps.

When the bartender holds out a small clipboard with our bill, I shove some cash under the clip and hand it back before John can argue. It’s the last of my travel money, but it’s easier than trying to pay with a credit card that has a different name on it than the one I gave him. ‘Just one of the things I like about you, John.’

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