I knew better than to believe that.
I raise my fresh drink as she saunters away in her cutoffs and kissable strawberry-scented lip gloss. A glance back and I flash her a smile showing her I can truly stand at a bar alone while she gets her flirt on.
“You’re a good friend.”
Vivid gold eyes, stark black hair, and a rakishly handsome are all the things that instantly clicked in my mind when I turn at the sound of a deep voice over my shoulder.
And just like that, all my self-proclaimed must-nots dissolve. All with the power of a firm baritone.
I am such a freaking pushover.
“Excuse me?” My voice holds more than a hint of surprise.
My eyes travel up a board chest to find a delicious scruff covering a chiseled jawline.
I inwardly groan. Two of my weaknesses.
I inhale and get hit with a hit of his intoxicating masculine scent.
Crisp. Not overpowering. Erotic.
Shit.
His gaze grows centered, focused. Like I am the only one he’s interested in. and the weight of such intensity pins me to my stool.
When he opens his mouth, the way his full lips move traps my attention.
“I don’t know of many women who would willingly send their friends off to claim the best prize of the night.PrizesI should add.” He looks over my shoulder to the group of men my friend is currently working her charms on.
“That makes you a damn good friend in my book.”
His accent is a unique blend of the Big Apple and the Big Easy—a long draw on the vowels and relaxed pronunciations. Maybe a little bit of country boy in there too, but not in appearance.
I turn my body a little more his way. His long, black shirt sleeves are rolled up to reveal thick forearms bathed in colorful ink. The top three buttons close to his throat are popped open to reveal his forearms aren't the only part of him with ink.
Diablos, Arabelle. Focus. Bad boy equals no bueno.
“What makes them a catch?” I ask with true curiosity.
He gestures to the stool beside me and I nod in agreement
Manners.Check mark.That has to counter a little bit of the dangerous aura he gives off. Right?
I take in the various arrangements of tattoos covering the back of his hand and tops of his fingers as he slides the stool to my left out and glides his massive weight close. I also catch the glint of light off the three rings on his left hand and a single silver one on the right–a skull with a ruby in its mouth and with what looks like chains rimming the raised edge. Beautiful and elegant if not a little bulky.
But it seemed perfect for him.
Sitting barely a foot from me the gorgeous man’s crackling body heat penetrates my senses in ways that have my brain slowing down and my core revving up.
He signals for a fresh round and slides a tequila in front of me. I take it and offer it up in a salute of gratitude before I sip the amber liquid. Real top-shelf stuff, not gasoline.
Another check mark.
“Gracias.”
I might not have a whole lot of experience doing the college party scene right as seen on tv, but I do know how to appreciate free booze from a handsome admirer. Laila’s plan is working out already.
Speaking of handsome admirers, mine cants his head and those dark, glittering eyes study my face a moment before he picks up his drink. The look in those dark eyes is as intense as the man. I study him right back and all those tattoos are front and center as he hammers back his drink. Some appear random while others seem more thoughtful.