Page 10 of Dirty Pool

“Trying to find the other two I came with,” Gabbie replied, laughing.

“Oh, they’ll be back around. No worries there.”

Probably.

Sometime.

Instead of going to look for one of her cousins, she figured it was better for her to stay in one place. That was better than the three of them moving around the large venue trying to find one another, right?

She was just taking a sip from the glass of water when a man slid in beside her at the bar. He didn’t look her way, instead his attention focused in on the woman behind the bar working at their end. In a way, she thought it was a shame he didn’t look at her, so she could get a full-on view of those handsome features, but she was loving his slightly turned profile.

Strong jaw.

White teeth bared in his grin.

Brown eyes.

His tanned skin looked almost golden under the lights of the club, and his dark, curly hair tousled down a bit near his ears like he’d been running his fingers through it. The strands couldn’t be contained if the way they fell into his eyes were any indication. He filled out the pair of dark slacks covering a fine arse, not to mention the way the side of his shoulders and part of his back looked covered in a button down, red silk dress shirt.

God.

She loved a man that could fill out his clothes, and she adored it even more when he had wide shoulders, and a back that begged for fingernails to dig in.

“Lambay, three fingers,” the man told the bartender.

Gabbie arched a brow, her mouth working before her brain did. “An Irish whiskey, huh?”

Before the bartender even replied to the man to confirm his order, his gaze turned on Gabbie. She swore in those few seconds, as his profile turned into the full view of his face, the club faded into the background.

It was just her and him.

Green eyes meeting brown.

His profile didn’t do him justice. At all. The curve of his lips when he smiled went a little deeper, showcasing dimples on each cheek. Thick, dark eyebrows lifted slightly, one arching a little higher than the other at her question. Perfect white teeth flashed in his grin, and those intense eyes of his drifted over her quickly, drinking in the dress that looked painted onto her body before his gaze snapped back up to her face.

He really was a handsome lad.

Sexy.

“I prefer it,” the man said, his tone like brown sugar. Dark, deep, and sinfully rich. “If there’s anything the Irish know, it’s their liquor.”

Gabbie flashed him a smile. “Tell me about it; personal knowledge. Isn’t it obvious?”

There was no hiding the lilt in her tone—the hint of an accent that, despite her efforts to try and subdue it, was still there. An Irish accent.

The man winked, unashamed. “Can’t tell at all.”

She laughed. “You’re a horrible liar.”

“I never really need to lie, though.”

Huh.

“Gabbie,” she said.

He put a hand out when she offered hers, and the second his fingers wrapped around hers, she swore the heat that sparked between the two was enough to make her draw in a sharp breath. She couldn’t tell for sure, though, because she was a little too focused on the way he was looking at her.

He liked what he saw.