I looked him up because he’s the opposite of my ex. He’s good and charming. He’s the boy next door.
Okay, theguynext door. Or that’s the idea.
His lips curve upward in intrigue. “Is that so?”
“You always helped everyone around the neighborhood. Our block was filled with the prettiest lawns. And I seem to remember you made the best mac and cheese,” I say, giving him a flirty smile.
“Ah, so you like me for my gardening. Duly noted,” he says, and when the bartender returns with our drinks, Gabe thanks him. A couple of guys walk toward us, the mustached one staring at my chest. Gabe glowers at the guy, and he snaps his gaze away.
With that leer vanquished, Gabe smiles at me, then lifts his glass. “To you,” he says.
I lift mine. “To you looking me up,” I say, clinking with his tumbler.
“Or to you lookingmeup,” he teases.
Finally. We’re flirting in a way I can handle.
“Hey, now. You were going to tell me whyyoulooked me up. I’m still waiting,” I say with a smile, then I take a sip of my wine, and he knocks back some bourbon.
“Ladies first,” he says.
Fine. If I must. Best to put this out in the open anyway. “My friends challenged me to go on a date with a good guy,” I say, laying out the truth and nothing but. It’s easier than playing games. I don’t have it in me to toy with him. Not after I stumbled out of the gate.
He inches closer to me. “Of all the men in Los Angeles, you picked me for this experiment?”
“Did I pick badly?” I counter innocently, fluttering my lashes. Yes, I’m getting my groove back.
He lifts his glass, saying nothing, then swallows some liquor. “I’ll surprise you by the end of the night, Ellie,” he says in a smoky tone.
My stomach flutters. “Good. I love surprises.”
“Me too. But tell me more about this…good guy challenge,” he says, his gaze locking on mine.
“No, it’s your turn.” I touch his arm and let my fingers settle there. I’m totally copping a feel, and Gabe knows it, judging by the way he glances down at my hand then back up to meet my eyes.
“You said you’d tell me why you looked me up,” I prompt, reminding him of our texts from earlier. “Don’t leave a gal hanging.”
He lets out a satisfied breath, like he’s glad I asked. “When I saw you last night, I remembered that Christmas party at my aunt’s house when you were in college. Remembered the mistletoe. Thought about what I’d wanted to do to you that night.”
This is no longer playful flirting. This is hot, racy, dirty talk, headed only one direction. I grip the edge of the bar so I don’t climb him right here. Trying to keep my cool, I look up at the empty space above our heads. “But there’s no mistletoe here, Gabe.”
When our eyes meet again, his smile comes at me like a seduction, slow and sensual. “The night is young, Ellie,” he says, in a voice hinting that maybe he’s not so nice.
Then he shifts his tone to something less incendiary. “So you’re here in Los Angeles.”
I’m grateful for the change in topic. I was about to melt like a popsicle onto the floor. “I moved here for work. I had a great new opportunity on a show I wrote and am producing.”
I raise my glass for another sip, and as the wine slides past my lips, I spot a ginger-haired man walking toward us, his gaze lingering on my face as if he recognizes me, maybe from the TV show I acted in?
The redhead slows as he gets closer to me, and the sound that comes from Gabe’s throat is feral. A low, menacing growl, like a dog.
Aimed at the man.
Holy fuck.
Is that hot?
Yes, that is hot.