Page 6 of Keeping the Single Dad
A good guy? Is there any such thing? “He’s great. Don’t believe anything you read in the papers.”
The gigantic Scotsman gave me a smile that set my pulse racing before he slid onto the stool next to me. How tall was he? He had to be around six-foot-five? Six-foot-six? It was a good job we were sitting down. At five-foot-two, I’d be getting a cramp in my neck right now if I had to talk to him standing up.
He drew his lips in thoughtfully. “Gabe surprised me. Just goes to show you shouldn’t judge a person without getting to know them.”
I raised my glass and clinked it against his. “Amen.”
Amusement flickered in his eyes as they met mine. His voice was low and smooth. “Amen.”
Everyone was always so committed to misjudging me. I'd always played in defense so I should have been used to it by now. Defenders are only judged on their mistakes. This awful journalist thought I was someone she could bully and blackmail. My sister thought I was irresponsible. Claire, my manager, at the club was always on my back. The girls on the team only thought I was good for partying. I never shared with them any of the things going on at home. Some horrible scratchy feeling inside always stopped me. I couldn’t betray my dad by sharing his struggles.
I smoothed Mel’s tight dress over my thighs. I’d dressed up like a contestant on The Apprentice to impress Karen Delaney. Fat lot of good it had done me.
I flicked my long red hair over my shoulder. “Are you staying here?”
“Aye.”
“Are you staying here alone?”
His gaze slid down my body before darting back to my eyes. “Aye. What about you?”
“I’m just passing through.”
He watched me intently. The surrounding air electrified. A line deepened between his brows. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
My heart pounded at the lie. I didn’t even know why I hadn’t been truthful, except this guy looked older than my usual type. He probably wouldn’t want to hear that I was twenty-two.
“What about you? How old are you?”
He rose a sardonic brow. “Old enough to know better.” His low, lilting accent held depth and authority. “And old enough to be your dad from the look of you.”
"I like men. I don’t waste my time with boys."
“Is that so?” A small smile flickered over his lips as his gaze raked over me, boldly. “What’s your name? I’m Alexander.”
Alexander.
It was delicious to hear his name in that deep, soothing voice. I could listen to him reading a post-match analysis and it would still be as sexy as hell. I wanted to tell him my real name, so I could hear him speak it, but I couldn’t face being Lana tonight. Tonight, I was my ball-buster-girl-boss sister. Mature. Sensible. In control. I was wearing her clothes. Might as well go full hog.
My heart pounded as the lie slipped from my lips. "My name is…Melissa. Everyone calls me Mel."
He nodded and his gaze bore into me in expectation. “Tell me more about yourself, Mel.”
He wanted to know more? Shit. What was I doing? What did it matter? We were just two strangers in a bar. I’d never see him again. The back of my neck heated as more white lies spilled forth.
“My favorite food is pizza, but the proper kind you’d get on the street in Italy.”
“Oh? You’re a food snob?” Humor danced in his eyes.
“I just have a…refined palette. My favorite color is blue. I like the smell of petrol. I’m a cat person not a dog person. When I was five I—"
“You don’t like dogs?”
I tried to remember all of Mel’s bullshit reasons for preferring cats to dogs. We’d argued about it so many times.
“Dogs are messy. The hair gets everywhere. It’s unhygienic.”
