Page 17 of Make Me Hunt
Nothing here either, my frustration’s screaming through the rooftop.
On to the next, I don’t even slow down, just walk and go straight to the bar. Impatience gnawing at me. I’ve kind of lost my charm for tonight, but the guy behind the bar flashes me a large smile while wiping a glass with a towel. “What can I get you?” he asks, his deep blue eyes and that loose strand of dark hair falling across his face telling me he could get me a lot of things—hopefully an orgasm—even though the real chances of that are slim.
At least I manage to slip back into a much more seductive attitude, showing the picture along while sliding a twenty-dollar bill across the bar—which he pushes back on the counter. “How about your number in return for the favor?” he asks, and if I weren’t here on business, I might’ve been given him a little more than my number right now.
I’m not really great with men, but I’m not shy either. If I like something, I give it a try. Not that it happens very often. And when it does, it usually crashes and burns.
“How do I know you’ll actually deliver?” I ask, showing him the picture once again.
“I always deliver,” he says with a smile, reaching for a shelf of liquor behind him. He grabs a bottle of vodka and pours some of it into a shaker, followed by a fewother liquors I don’t recognize. “So, is your computer broken? Lose data from your phone?” he asks as he still works on the drink, and I realize he knows who I’m searching for.
He really knows the guy since he mentioned computers.
“He’s a friend of a friend, and I need a favor,” I answer, not quite sure if I should admit that I’m sort of bounty-hunting his ass.
“Here, try this. I think it’s something you’d like,” he slides a glass toward me, filled with whatever he just mixed in that shaker and a few slices of lime.
I’ve been tracking his movements all along, so there’s no way he spiked the drink. I’m extra careful when it comes to stuff like that, and I clocked every single move he made. Besides, I don’t want to seem defensive, so I take a sip. It’s actually good. He’s right, I like it.
“This is actually delicious,” I smile, trying to seem a little more innocent than I really am. “What’s it called?” I ask, wanting to make a mental note of my new favorite drink.
“Well, what’s your name?” He arches an eyebrow. I’m pretty sure this is a line he uses on every girl, but at this point, I don’t even care.
“Brynn.”
“It’s called a Brynn,” he says, spinning a bottle on one finger right before flicking it back into place with practiced ease.
The man is good with his hands—that’s always good to know.
I chuckle at the thought, but as much as I’d like to flirt a little with him, I need to find that damn hacker. “So, is he around?” I ask, keeping it light.
He looks at his watch. “He should’ve been around by now, but I haven’t seen him today.”
Fuck. He probably skipped town already.
“Maybe stick around… see if he turns up,” he says with a wide grin, and I’m pretty sure he could keep me entertained for the night. But as much as I hate to refuse his offer, I really have to get this job done.
“I can’t. I really need to get a hold of him. It’s urgent.” I say, my voice just worried enough to earn some sympathy. “You did ask for my number, so here it is.” I slip a note with my phone number to him. I find this a lot sexier than dictating it. “Thinkyou could call me if he shows up…without telling him? My friend says he’s really jumpy, so I’ve got to be discreet.”
He studies me for a second, probably debating if he should trust me, so I hit him with the Bambi eyes. Works like a charm every time. “I’ll keep an eye out if it means seeing you again,” he whispers back while I dig into my pockets for that twenty, just to pay for my drink. But he pushes my hand away again. “On the house,” he says with a wink, then heads off to serve a customer who just waved him over.
I check my watch. It’s almost midnight. So, I rush to the next bar, but just when I’m ready to run the same play, my phone lights up. It’s a number I don’t recognize.
God, please don’t let it be a dick pic.
Or maybe let it, depending on who’s sending it.
Looks like the message is from the right person—though not a dick pic.
A Brynn is waiting for you at the bar—along with the man you’re looking for.
Josh.
This is better than the dick pic.
I get back in the car and go straight back to the bar I just left.
Josh, a.k.a the cute bartender, winks at me as I walk up to the bar, where a Brynn on ice is waiting for me. This time, I didn’t get to check if it’s spiked, but the guy seems well versed in women, and honestly, he doesn’t need to pull something like that to get laid.
