He had been to a lot of bars and pubs all around the world, and this was the type he liked most: low-key and unpretentious. Music played, some old standard, presumably from the jukebox in the corner. There were a few booths to one side and some tables filling the floor space between the door and the bar. The bar itself was an L-shape, the wood shining with a patina of history. Behind it, there was a mirror lining the wall and shelves with the usual assortment of liquors on it.
The man tending bar looked up as they walked in. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, partially tucked into his waistband. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with the latte complexion of someone from mixed heritage. A tattoo covered his left bicep, but otherwise, he looked clean-cut, with close-cropped hair and no jewelry.
Really, everyone in the bar looked up, and they all stared at them.
Jamie was used to having people stare at him, but having it happen here wasn’t what he wanted. He glanced around, taking in the people, and realized the three of them were dressed much differently than the locals in there. He assessed the bartender’s clothing and realized they were going to need to do a little shopping.
At one end of the bar, tucked into the corner, there was an older man with a pint and a sketchpad. As he watched them, his hand moved quickly over the paper.
At the other end of the bar, there were two women. One was blond, her hair in glossy waves just past her shoulders. She was curvy, her shapely legs crossed at the ankles.
The woman next to her had dark hair, pulled back into a twist. She wore a white blouse that had black polka dots on it, with a high neckline that left her elegant neck bare. Resting at the nape was one perfect curl.
Jamie’s eyes snagged on it, and something deep in the pit of his belly came to life. Without thinking, he headed toward her, staring at that seemingly innocuous curl.
Fortunately, the stool next to her was free. He took it, moving it so he wasn’t encroaching in her space. But for a moment, he was close enough that he caught a whiff of her scent.
A remnant of soap, overlaid with a hint of spicy woman. As innocuous as that tempting curl.
Didier glanced at her and then raised his brow at him as he took the stool next to his, giving Erik the one on the outside.
Jamie saw the bartender give the women a look to make sure they were okay with them being so close. He liked that—not that he was perceived as a possible pest, but that the bartender looked out for them. He was an only child, but he had scads of female cousins, and he’d done the same for them on any number of occasions.
The bartender came to stand in front of them. “What can I get you?”
“Three pints,” Jamie said. He looked at the taps. “Heineken.”
The bartender stared at Erik, his blue gaze startlingly vivid. “Can I see your ID?”
They all froze, and then Jamie realized it was because of Erik’s age. He’d forgotten about that, but he’d been refused service the last time he’d visited because he’d been too young. He nodded to Erik, who slowly pulled his passport out of his pocket and held it out.
The bartender raised his brows. “You kidding me?”
“It’s all I have,” Erik said apologetically.
The man made a noise, flipped the passport open, and studied it. Jamie practically breathed a sigh of relief when the bartender handed it back without any recognition. “I’ll get your drinks.”
He realized the women next to them had stopped talking and were paying attention, but they quietly resumed their conversation.
“C’est très intéressant içi,” Didier said, undoing the button on his coat. “Et je voulais de vin rouge.”
Jamie snorted. Imagine ordering a glass of red wine in a pub like this. “You’re out of luck, mate.”
“Where are you visiting from?”
He stilled, and then he turned to his right.
The woman with the Victorian curl at the nape of her neck was staring at him. He only noticed two things.
First: her eyes were a gray so deep he felt like he could float in them. He wondered if he made love to her outside, if the sky would reflect in them and make them look blue.
Second: she had lips made for naughtiness.
He stopped himself from thinking any further about that. He was here for Erik. Also, he didn’t have his coat and, therefore, couldn’t hide evidence of arousal.
He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had turned him on without any effort, but he’d recognized her as special the moment he’d laid eyes on her.
He realized the woman, and her friend, were waiting on an answer. Smiling, he said, “Europe.”