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And even less likely to get it.
I can’t look away as my glass presses to the full line of her lower lip. She drinks, the delicate column of her throat working as she swallows it down, licking that same lip with one gliding pass of her tongue before handing the glass back to me. “Now, tell me why your day was so terrible.”
“I’d rather not.” I fight to look away from her mouth and fail. I could watch this woman lick her lips all night. Would be willing to burn the image into my mind with a hot poker, just so I could pull it up later tonight when I’m home. Alone.
Because I’m not stupid enough to think she’s really here to hear about my day and I’m sure as fuck not stupid enough to think there’s a chance I’ll have her company later.
I lean to scan the room over her shoulder, looking for the table of women watching our every move. I know they’ve got to be there. Her partners in crime, waiting to see Sweet Side’s Filthy Liar get more of what they think he deserves.
But they don’t know the truth. Hell, I don’t even know the truth. It’s my life that’s fucked and I still don’t know why. Don’t know how it really happened.
“Who are you here with?” I turn my attention back to the woman at my side. It’s not difficult to do. Vengeful or not, she’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Face. Body. Voice. She’s the whole package, and that only makes this all the more awful to endure. Because I would love nothing more than for this to be real. To finally have someone to fill my bed and the long, lonely nights.
“I’m here with you.” She takes my drink again, sipping at the bourbon before setting it on the bar between us. “But to be fair, I still don’t know who you are.” The smile she’s never lost lifts, turning into a more teasing line. “I was expecting you to introduce yourself before I had to pry it out of you.”
I don’t believe she doesn’t know who I am, but that’s fine. I’ll play along. God knows I’ve got nothing else to do. “I’m Fynn. Fynn Hadaway.” I drag my name out, enunciating every sound, knowing she won’t be able to keep this ruse up much longer.
No woman in Sweet Side wants to waste her night, not even to try to drag me down lower. Good thing, since I’m at the fecking bottom.
But the usual flare of empathetic anger I see when a woman looks at me never flashes in her eyes. All I see in her whiskey gaze is mild amusement as she leans closer. “Aren’t you going to ask my name?”
The closeness of her body is a temptation I’m not strong enough to resist. If this is all a setup then fuck it. I’m going to get all I can until the second she throws a drink in my face and walks back to high-five her conspiring friends.
I angle in my seat, letting myself pretend for just a minute that I’m the man I was six months ago. The man from before. If she can pretend this is real then so can I.
“My apologies.” Resting one arm on the back of her stool I ease closer, making sure I take in everything. The flush of her cheeks when I lean into her ear. The decadent scent of her skin as I breathe the air around her. “What’s your name?”
She dips her chin, peeking at me under lashes blacker than the women of Sweet Side believe my heart to be. “Valerie.”
It’s easier than I expect to slip into the man I used to be. The man who was confident in who he was. What he had to offer. “Would you like a drink, Valerie?”
Her lips lift in the softest, sexiest smile I’ve ever seen. “I thought we were sharing?”
This woman is good. Better than the others out to make a fool of the man they all hate. Out of me.
“We’ll share then.” I lean back just enough to reach for the glass of bourbon, holding it out for her as I crowd back into her space. “How long have you lived in Sweet Side, Valerie?”
“A few weeks.” She takes the glass from me and sips, leaving me to stare at her in stunned silence.
Is it possible this beautiful, wickedly sexy woman really doesn’t know who I am?
She sets the glass on the small space of bar left between us and rolls it on its base. “It’s not an easy town to make friends in.”
Tell me about it.
Her eyes lift to hold mine. “I saw you sitting here alone and thought maybe we could be friends.” She leans closer, the full swell of one tit pressing against my bicep through the crisp cotton of my shirt. “Can we be friends, Fynn Hadaway?”
I haven’t heard a woman say my name without disdain in so long I must have forgotten what it sounded like. Certainly it was nothing like the husky whisper that came from Valerie’s lips just now—sounding like pure pleasure and sin—because it’s never shot straight to my dick like this. It makes me want to believe her. Want to do whatever it takes to keep her here, praying she says it again.
But I can’t let go of what the truth might be.
I shift closer, memorizing the soft slope of her jaw, the straight line of her nose. I want to remember it all. Need to remember it all because God knows when I might have it again. “Why do you want to be my friend, Valerie?”
One shoulder lifts and her amber eyes fix on mine. “Why not?”
Why not, indeed.
“I could be an awful person.” I offer a little of what the feminine masses say about me. Tease her with the untruth that stole so much.
