“When did your eyes get so green?”
He turned to stare at her, stunned by her question. Stunned even more by the dreamy expression on her face as she stared at him like she wanted to . . . gobble him up? “What did you just say?” he asked carefully.
“Your eyes.” She waved a hand in their general direction, and he couldn’t help but let his gaze drop to her chest. She had a nice one, and he was always trying to sneak a peek. Now he just blatantly stared. “They’re so green. Like your beer.”
Jerking his gaze away from her tits, Tate grabbed the bottle and held it to his lips, taking a drink before he said, “The beer isn’t green, Blue Jay. But the bottle is.”
“You know what I mean.” She waved her hand again, nearly smacking him in the jaw. “They’re very sparkly.” When he looked at her like she was crazy, she clarified, “Your eyes.”
“They are?”
“Oh, yeah.” She nodded, a giggle slipping past her lips. “Sparkly and green and so very pretty.”
His entire body went warm, and his dick twitched. Huh. He’d had women tell him he had nice eyes. His mother had always raved about his eyes when he was a kid, even going so far as to force him to wear green shirts to “bring out the color in your eyes.” This wasn’t an unusual compliment.
No, what was unusual was his reaction to it. Maybe it was the way Wren watched him. Or the way she seemed to sway toward him as she spoke, like there was a magnetic force pulling them closer together. One she couldn’t fight no matter how hard she tried.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice low as he contemplated her, skimming the length of her before his gaze returned to hers. “You have very, very pretty eyes too.”
Those very pretty eyes widened in surprise and she pressed her lips together, blinking rapidly. “Seriously?”
Tate nodded, wondering why she’d doubt him. Then again, she would, what with the way they gave each other endless grief. “Definitely. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that before?”
“Not really. You certainly haven’t.”
“I just did,” he reminded her, making her roll her eyes.
Ah, there was the Wren he knew.
She shrugged and turned toward the bar, grabbing her drink, disappointment written all over her face when she realized it was empty. “I should probably go.”
“You wouldn’t let me leave,” he pointed out. “So I think you should stay. Keep me company.”
“What are you doing here anyway?”
That was a good question. Sitting at home on his first full day off in what felt like forever, he’d been bored. Restless. So he’d hopped in his SUV and drove around town, but he soon got bored with that too. He didn’t know what he wanted, what he was looking for, but the moment he entered the bar and saw the back of Wren’s head, he knew it was her.
And his night got magically better. Just like that.
“Bored,” he answered truthfully. “Thought I’d stop by and grab a drink.”
She gave him a look. “Really? Don’t tell me this is your deep dark secret. That you come hang out here on your nights off and drink yourself into oblivion.”
“Never.” He polished off the beer and nodded at Russ, the old bartender who also happened to own the place. “Bring the lady another one too,” he told him.
Russ frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
That earned another eye roll from Wren. “Come on, Russ. You’re not my dad.”
“Thank God for that, child.” Russ shook his head as he approached them. “She’s already had three,” he told Tate.
“And I’d like another, please.” She hiccupped, bouncing on the stool, and Tate couldn’t help but think she looked kinda cute. And kinda inebriated. “Come on, Russ. Don’t be such a party pooper,” she whined.
“I’ll take care of her,” Tate said quietly, his words for Russ only. “Make sure she gets home safe.”
“You sure about that? I’ve known this girl since she was three and liked to eat dirt pies for dessert.” The pointed look Russ sent him was loud and clear. He’d entrust Wren to Tate’s keeping, but he’d better keep his hands to himself.
Wren groaned and shook her head. “Why would you go and say that?” Her gaze met Tate’s, and she seemed to be trying her best to look sincere. “I swear I never ate dirt.”