Tegan snickered. “On a Wednesday night at The Zebra Den? Good luck with that.”
“There’s gotta be somebody here worth gettin’ to know,” I drawled.
I cast another lazy look in our general vicinity just for kicks. A sexy diversion sounded nice, but Tegan was right. The Zebra Den was no place to pick up a stranger. Flirting was fine. In fact, it was encouraged. However, if you asked me, meaningless hookups had less of a squick factor if they originated at classier establishments. The act might lead to the same happy ending, but in the light of day, one made you feel like you had bubblegum stuck to the bottom of your shoe the following day, and the other clung to you like dog shit.
And yes, that observation was based on personal scientific analysis.
“The blonde by the door keeps looking over here.” Dec inclined his head slightly.
I glanced over on cue. “I spy a wedding ring. That’s a no.”
“Good policy and good luck.” Tegan dropped a couple of twenties on the table. “We’re outta here. Ready, Dec?”
“Yeah. See you tomorrow, Bobby J.” Dec nudged my shoulder as he stood, lowering his voice and adding, “Cute twink alert. Far corner of the bar. Behave.”
“I always do,” I lied, exchanging fist-bumps with my buddies before clandestinely twisting to take a peek at said cutie.
I couldn’t see a thing. The shadows cloaked that section in darkness, making it difficult to discern anyone’s features. Especially if your vision sucked. Fuck, I had to do something about that soon. This was getting ridiculous.
Recently, I’d found myself relying on odd clues to identify people and objects when my eyes got tired and my sight went blurry. The blonde with the wedding ring was a good example. I couldn’t “see” her from here; however, I spotted the glint of gold on her left hand. It might not have been on her ring finger, but I doubted Tegan or Dec would check. They didn’t really care.
And that was the funny thing about perception and communication. No one cared about details unless they were personally impacted. It was a matter of controlling the static. It wasn’t possible to worry about everyone else’s BS and your own at the same time, right? I had far too much BS swimming in my brain at the moment. I was tempted to drown my sorrows in something stronger than beer.
Nah, I could do that at home. I did a quick calculation of the bill. The guys had already paid for our drinks and left a substantial tip. I added a few more dollars because I could, then made my way to the exit, humming along to the David Bowie tune piped through the speakers. I nodded to the pretty blonde. Yep, definitely married. And at the last second, curiosity got the better of me. I had to get a glimpse of the guy in the shadows. Just because.
I adjusted course, fiddling with the zipper on my leather jacket as I sidled up to the padded bar and turned to my left and—wow, he was cute…in a collegiate, eager, and kind of intense way. He had wavy brown hair, long eyelashes, and a sculpted jawline. I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were or how tall he was from this angle, but he was definitely on the young side. Younger than twenty-five, which meant probably too young for me. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t say a cordial hello.
“You look like trouble,” I blurted, flashing a mischievous grin.
He jolted on his barstool as though I’d ripped him from deep thoughts, blinking like a deer in headlights.
“Uh…I do?”
I chuckled softly. “Definitely. Or you look like you’re memorizing a complicated equation.”
“Um…I was. Well, I mean…” he sputtered.
The exchange was awkward. Anyone else would have let the poor guy off the hook. I mean, c’mon. I didn’t know shit about this guy, but it was painfully obvious I wasn’t his type. For all I knew, he was straight as an arrow. If my gaydar was working properly, I’d guess he was gay for sure and probably into a more average-looking Joe.
That wasn’t me. At all. I’d actually been told I came across as a tad intimidating. Now, that could have hurt my feelings, but I understood. I was six three and built like a lumberjack. No shit. I wasn’t quite as muscular as Tegan. In fact, I probably needed to spend a little more time at the gym, but I was a big man with a thick beard and a fuckton of ink under my plaid button-down.
So, what the hell was I thinking when I gestured toward the empty barstool beside him? No clue.
“Mind if I join you?”
He opened his pretty mouth and closed it twice. “Oh…okay. Sure. Yeah.”
“What are you drinkin’?” I asked, tapping his cocktail napkin.
“This is rum with Coca-Cola.”