Page 103 of Resisting You
"Whiskey, neat," he said to the bartender, his voice unmistakably low and rough.
I turned slightly. West. I only really knew of him in passing. Through stories my brother had told in the last few years. But also…mynew friend.
And when I saidnew, I meanthe doesn’t actually know yet. The kind of new that hit differently when your heart was a little raw and the champagne was doing all the talking.
And now, under the warm glow of string lights and soft music, Ireallysaw him.
He was tall. Not just tall, but broad-shouldered, dark-eyed, and tattooed down both forearms in a way that made my champagne brain short-circuit. He had a thick leather cuff around his wrist, a scruffy jaw, and a black button down shirt that fit a little too well with the cuffs rolled just imperfectly enough to the elbows.
I almost askedhimto marry me on the spot.
He wrapped a hand around the lowball glass.
"Whiskey, neat?" I asked, shocked that I wasn’t slurring my words yet. "Didn’t peg you for the brooding cowboy type."
He paused, the glass halfway to his lips as he glanced over at me, seemingly amused. "Oh? What typedidyou peg me for?"
His voice had that raspy, rumbly quality that made me weak in the knees. Sure, he was a bit older than me… maybe ten years or so… but for one night? I sure as hell didn’t care.
“Hmmm…” I tapped my chin in exaggerated thought. "I seeyouas… an espresso martini type.”
He snorted. "An espresso martini? I think I’d accidentally snap the stem right in half.”
I smirked. “You must have strong fingers.”
His eyes glinted and I wasn’t too drunk not to notice the way they quickly swept down my body appreciatively. “You have no idea.”
“I can use my imagination. Especially since you’re drinking fire in a glass like you’re auditioning for a noir film."
This earned me a chuckle. Again,deep. Rumbling. The sort of laugh that made heat pool low in my belly. "And what about you? Vodka soda? That's not even trying. It’s like the most basic well drink every twenty-one year old starts out on.”
I lifted my brows and gave a playfully haughty shrug. "I’ll have you know this is averyefficient panic order."
He tilted his head, his smile faltering briefly. “Panic order? Is everything okay?"
"Well, I’m at my twin brother’s wedding. Wearing heels. Surrounded by people who know what they’re doing with their lives. You tell me."
"Ahhh. The ol’ twin conundrum.”
I turned slightly to face him more directly, and in my not-so-graceful pivot, my heel sank into a soft spot in the grass, causing me to lose my balance and sending half of my newly poured vodka soda right across his expensive looking shirt.
I gasped. "Oh no. Oh God, I am so sorry.”
He looked down, then back up at me like he couldn’t decide if he was more amused or damp. "Guess I deserved that for mocking your drink order. Instant karma."
“I mocked you first!” In a panic, I grabbed a stack of small cocktail napkins from the bar and started wiping at the stain on his lapel. “Shit. What gets out a stain… club soda???”
His smile curved higher and he calmly, gently, took my hands, stopping my frantic swiping. “Well… itishalf club soda. Relax. It won’t stain.”
“But… but this looks expensive,” I said, my hand still flat across his chest. I examined the well-made clothes that fit him like a glove, feeling the soft silk of the fabric that countered the hard slab of muscle beneath it. “It feels expensive.”
It was clearly designer. And I couldn’t afford to replace it if it did stain. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I could afford the dry cleaning bill.
My fingers traced the lines of his chest, over his pecs and I gasped as I realized I was standing here petting this man like he was a damn german shepherd.
Just as I was about to pull my hand back, he made a low, approving sound in the back of his throat—something between a hum and a growl—that made my fingers twitch and my brain briefly forget how words worked.
“I should stop,” I managed to croak.
