And he seemed interested in her.
So she was allowed one night of indulgence, right? Even if this interlude with Jared never amounted to much more than an hour-long conversation in a bar, she could soak that up for all it was worth. And if they took it further…
She didn’t plan on protesting. In fact, she was going to do this. Drink a little more booze, flirt with a handsome celebrity, and hope like hell she didn’t make a fool of herself. No strong, confident woman would turn down a chance to spend the evening with Jared Quinn, so she wouldn’t, either.
The waitress wandered over, going bug-eyed when she saw Jared. “Um, what can I get you two?”
Jared ordered a beer, the waitress’ eyes never leaving his face. Not that Sheridan could blame her. He was just so…magnetic, an aura emanating from him that drew her in. Seeing that face again and again on TV, in magazines, plastered on billboards where he wore nothing else but a pair of undies and a smile…yeah. It didn’t matter if you were a sixty-year-old waitress who’d seen it all; he flat-out dazzled.
“I’ll have a glass of wine,” Sheridan said when the waitress looked at her, her voice firm. Hell yeah, she was having a glass. “Chardonnay, please.”
The waitress took off, glancing over her shoulder one last time as if she couldn’t help herself. Jared didn’t seem to notice, his attention focused completely on Sheridan, and she found that the tiniest bit thrilling.
Okay, a lot thrilling.
“So tell me, how did you become an artist?” He smiled, the interest in his blue eyes clear.
“It’s my grandma’s fault. She was the creative one of the family and always pushed me. Said I was a natural. With her constant encouragement, I couldn’t not give it a try. My grandma always said to go after my dream.” She took a sip of her water, the memories of her grandma always making her a little nostalgic. “How did you become a football player?”
“My dad put me on peewee teams, junior leagues. I was almost six-foot by the time I was thirteen, so when I hit high school I was playing on varsity,” he explained, staring at his hands. He spread his fingers wide. “I could always throw far, even when I was little.”
Her gaze dropped to those million-dollar hands. They were huge. Wide palms, long fingers. She had the sudden urge to touch them. At the very least, feel them on her skin. “Natural-born talent as well, then?”
“Sure.” He shrugged modestly. “Though I worked hard to get where I’m at. I’m sure you did, too.”
“I did.” She liked that he understood everything wasn’t just handed to her. Not that she’d been handed a gold mine, what with the expenses she had to keep up with to maintain the studio. But her mom certainly thought she’d been spoiled. Louisa Harper had always been jealous of Sheridan’s relationship with her grandmother. Whereas her mom had been the wild child who never wanted to listen to her parents, Sheridan had worshipped the ground her grandma walked on.
And her dad had never been in the picture, that was for sure. When it came to the women in the Harper family, men just didn’t stick.
The waitress appeared with their drinks. “Need anything else? Appetizers, maybe another beer just in case?” she asked, looking as if she wanted to linger.
Jared reached behind him, pulling out a slender black leather wallet and withdrawing a crisp one hundred dollar bill. “I’ll tip you now if you make sure no one disturbs us the rest of the night.”
The woman’s eyes widened and she snatched the money from Jared’s fingers. “Will do. Have a good night,” she said before she scurried away.
Sheridan gaped at him. “Did you just pay her off?”
Drinking his beer, he shrugged. “It worked, right?”
“Yeah, but…” She clamped her lips shut when one of those million dollar hands settled over hers. The warmth of his touch sent a scattering of tingles across her skin, and her breath lodged in her throat when his thumb skimmed across the top of her hand.
“I don’t want anyone bothering us,” he said, his voice low. “I’m trying to get to know you better without a bunch of interruptions.”
“Don’t like the waitress staring at you like you’re a god?” She was incredibly conscious of his hand still on hers, the way he slowly stroked her with his thumb, like he was trying to hypnotize her.
It worked.
He smirked, the sight of it sending a zing straight to all of her feminine parts. “I’d rather you stare at me like I’m a god.”
…
Just one glass of wine in and Sheridan was a giggly, far-too-easygoing female with a come-hither smile and bedroom eyes. Extra flirty, with how she occasionally flipped her hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck, which he wanted to kiss. Lick. How she constantly touched his arm, her delicate fingers dancing on his skin, driving him wild, making his blood heat.
They’d talked. They’d flirted. She was enthusiastic about her art but worried at the same time. He could tell, but he also already knew from what Harvey had told him earlier. She didn’t outright say she was broke but she hinted at it. Sounded like she didn’t have the best time growing up, either, with a neglectful mom and absent father.
Jared could relate.
They’d played true confessions. He confessed he didn’t remember his mom and his dad had worked a lot. How sometimes he wondered if his life would’ve turned out differently if he had his mother around. Crazy, how Sheridan had said the exact same thing about her father.