1
Adriano
The blond at the bar was trouble. I knew it the moment I saw him.
There was mischief in his smile, and in this coy game he was playing. Two men were vying for his attention, and even though he’d been encouraging them and letting them buy him drinks for the better part of an hour, his gaze kept straying to me.
He had my full attention as I circled like a shark. The bar was a free-standing island in the center of the room, so I did a slow lap all the way around, weaving through the Saturday night crowd while closing in on the only man in here who’d captured my interest. It allowed the anticipation to build, so by the time I reached him it was palpable.
I slid in between this guy and one of the douchebags in a cheap suit, who’d been trying and failing to seal the deal. Finally, I got a good look at my quarry. He’d been cute from a distance, but up close he was perfection. He had the face of an angel and was almost too pretty, but his short, scruffy beard provided some balance.
Just because I liked figuring people out, I tried to guess his age. I would have said late twenties, except for those big, green eyes of his. It wasn’t the delicate lines at the corners that drove the number up. Instead, it was that tinge of skepticism, which suggested he’d been around the block a few times and learned some hard lessons along the way. I placed him at maybe thirty-three, thirty-four.
A flirtatious smile curled his full lips and drew my attention. That was one hell of a mouth. Luscious, that was the word for it. I really wanted a taste, but not yet.
I looked away long enough to order two shots of top shelf tequila from the bartender before turning back to this guy and asking, “Want to get out of here?”
This amused the blond and annoyed Cheap Suit Guy in equal measure. Blondie asked, “Just like that? Aren’t you going to buy me a drink first?” Meanwhile, the second douchebag who’d been hitting on him—probably with a pipe dream of a three-way—had already given up and wandered off.
I handed him one of the shots and said, “I just did.” Then I picked up the other one and clinked our glasses together before tossing it back.
He downed his without so much as a flinch and smirked at me, holding my gaze so steadily that it felt like he was issuing a challenge. I grinned at him and tossed a hundred-dollar bill onto the bar top, then turned toward the door and held my arm out.
My kid brother would call dropping that C-note a flex—needlessly showing off, in twenty-something speak—and he’d be right. But I figured this guy would notice and appreciate it. He seemed the type, someone who didn’t grow up wealthy but was ambitious and looking to upgrade his station in life. It was written all over him, from his expensive haircut and artfully subtle highlights to that aspirational blue suit—probably the very best quality he could afford, but not quite in the big leagues.
Sure enough, he glanced at the hundred and reached some conclusions about me, the same way I’d reached some conclusions about him. Then he linked his arm with mine.
Cheap Suit Guy wasn’t giving up easily, though. He got in our way and asked me, “What do you think you’re doing?”
He had balls, I’d give him that. At six-two and with my big build, it was obvious I could crush him like a bug, but his arrogance and sense of entitlement bolstered his courage. I shot him a look that a smarter man would have heeded as a warning and said, “I’m taking doll face home with me. What does it look like I’m doing?”
Cheap Suit turned his attention to the blond and tried another tactic. “You’re leaving with this asshole, just like that? After I bought you three vodka tonics?”
The blond bristled at that and growled, “What the fuck did you think, that you were buying me for the price of three cocktails? That’s not how this works, you self-important, entitled prick! Besides, I paid for those drinks—not with money, but with the hour of my life I spent listening to you droning on and on about yourself. Newsflash, investment banking isn’t that interesting, and if you were any good at it you wouldn’t be wearing that polyester atrocity you’re trying to pass off as a suit. Want some advice? Stay away from open flames, because that cheap-ass fabric would go up like a fucking dumpster fire.”
I was grinning ear-to-ear as we stepped around the shell of a man Blondie had just eviscerated. Cheap Suit Guy muttered, “You two assholes deserve each other.”
“It’s your fault, you know,” my companion told me, as we headed for the exit. “If you hadn’t taken for-fucking-ever to make your move, I wouldn’t have had to spend my evening listening to that douchebag talk about himself.”
“It looked like you had a good thing going there, so I wasn’t sure if I should cut in. Who am I to stand in the way of a nice, old fashioned spit-roasting?”
“Ha! In their dreams.”
I held the door for him, and once we were outside, I handed my ticket to the valet. While we waited for the car, he asked, “So, do I get to know your name? Or are you cultivating a whole man of mystery vibe to impress me?”
I produced a business card and handed it over as I said, “I’m Adriano Dombruso. My friends call me Reno.”
He barely glanced at the card. Instead, he pinched it and ran his thumb over the surface. I almost laughed. He was checking out the paper quality and feeling for the embossing. He might as well have asked for my bank balance at that point, since that little move was clearly meant to gauge how successful I was. Maybe my five-thousand-dollar bespoke suit was too subtle. In fact, it probably was. I’d selected the top quality, black wool fabric not for flash but for substance.
He stuck the card in his pocket and shook my hand. “Jack O’Donnell. Why is your nickname a tacky little city in Nevada?”
“It started because my kid brother Romy couldn’t say my name when he was a toddler. The best he could do was Reno, and somehow it stuck. I like it, because it makes me think of him.”
“Sounds like you two are close.”
“We are, and I couldn’t be prouder of him. He’s an EMT back home in Vegas, and all about helping others. The kid’s basically a saint.” Not that he’d asked, but I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to brag about my baby brother.
Those intelligent green eyes held my gaze as he teased, “And what about you, Reno? Are you a saint, too?”