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His lips curve into a satisfied smile as he casually leans on the bar counter, drawing the attention of an attractive female bartender with long black hair and a silver halter top. I’m a little annoyed at just how quickly he’s able to get her attention when I’ve been trying to place my order for the last ten minutes.
"Six tequila shots," he orders on my behalf, holding up a hundred-dollar bill. I’m assuming the extra shots are for him.
His voice is smooth and rich, and he has an accent I can't quite place. The bartender offers him a sexy smile in return, nods, and then fetches a bottle from a shelf on the wall behind her to pour our drinks.
“Seriously, thank you,” I manage to say as the shots are lined up before us.
I remember my mother’s warning again and try handing him my twenty-dollar bill to at least pay for some of the bill, but he refuses.
“It’ll be your treat next time,” he smiles, and my panties almost melt.
Next time.
“Nice, she gave us the top-shelf stuff,” he notices.
I bet she did, I think to myself. It’s obvious he has an effect on women. I wonder if he even realizes it.
My bar champion picks up two glasses and hands one to me. "To new friends," he says, holding his shot up for a toast.
"To new friends." I clink my glass against his, and we knock back the liquor as the hum of chatter in the bar grows louder.
The shot burns its way down my throat, but it warms me even more to see a wicked grin light up his face.
God, he’s beautiful.
Insanely beautiful.
“I assume you're new here?" he says, and it’s more of a statement than a question. His mismatched eyes scan my face intently.
“Yeah, I’m a freshman.”
"That makes two of us," he replies with a grin. “Where are you from?”
“Philadelphia.”
“Philly, huh?” he replies animatedly. “I’m from South Jersey. What are the chances I’d meet a hometown girl all the way in Vegas?”
“Ah, that explains the accent.”
“I’ve got an accent?” he chuckles inquisitively.
“A little.”
“What dorm are you in?”
“I live off-campus in an apartment,” I say with a tinge of disappointment.
“That’s a sweet situation for a freshman,” he says in a reassuring tone, perhaps picking up on my disheartened one. “You don’t have to share a bathroom or deal with the strict visitation rules.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s another way of looking at it,” I agree, suddenly feeling upbeat.
“What don’t you like about it?”
“I just feel like I might miss out on stuff living off campus. Plus, I don’t think it’s helping me meet any new friends.”
“You have a friend now,” he offers, and I swallow silently as a blush crawls up the back of my neck.
“Who are the other shots for?” He scans the crowd, looking beyond me. “Are they coming back?”
