“Not interested,” came the gruff response. “Just need your pretty little ass to move aside so I can get to what does interest me.”
“Oh!” She stepped aside, her head still down, embarrassed at having lost her cool. She cast him a wary side-eye; he really wasn’t interested in her or her hysterics. His focus was on the 24-pack of American beer. She wrinkled her nose.
Of course, that was the moment he glanced at her as he shouldered past to get into the cooler. He smirked. “Don’t approve, princess?”
Cassidy shrugged and looked away. “Not my business.” But she peered back. He had the same velvety brown eyes Elijah had; but this man’s weren’t warm and expressive; they were cold and emotionless. His overall expression was cutting with a touch of mockery, cynical. Otherwise, she could be persuaded to admit he was good-looking.
Most people would consider him good-looking—himself included. Tall, a natural dark cast to his skin tone made her assume a Latin heritage, dark hair in a military cut, features chiseled out of stone, strong jawline, lips that promised to bring you to your knees. She guessed he was ten years older than her, judging by the lines around his eyes. He was in shape from the way his T-shirt stretched across his chest. And confident. Cocky.
Arrogant.
Obnoxious.
Narcissistic.
Neanderthal.
Cassidy could throw out adjectives all day describing him without touching on one that was flattering to him. She used to do it as a bar trick, too, when she had a customer like him, a man devastating in looks but a total zero in the charm, personality, and intelligence department.
“Damn straight,” he responded, pulling the case with ease, the weight not an issue. Without a second glance—the first had been all-encompassing anyway—he walked away, all swagger and testosterone in his ass-defining blue jeans and combat boots.
Cassidy gritted her teeth. Vacationer. His New York accent clashed with the cleaner, clipped tones of the locals.Asa vacationer, he would have no respect for the locals, no sense of common courtesy. No, she shouldn’t have lost her shit in front of the beer, but he didn’t have to be such a dick.
A dick without a refined palate. Domestic beer, ugh. Out of meanness, she opened the cooler and removed a six-pack of Smithwick’s beer. She didn’t know why she did it—she didn’t even want beer—she didn’t like it. But sometimes, she rebelled in passive-aggressive ways that made her feel good. Superior.
It had driven Elijah nuts.
Halfway to the checkout, the thought had her in a mid-spin to return the beer when she heard a scoff.
While waiting for Lonnie to finish with a kid counting out pennies to buy Cheetos, the man perused the store. Leaning back against the counter, his attention was brought to her when she approached. He’d glanced at her basket and her beer choice. Thus, his scoff. He had one leg over the other, arms crossed over his broad chest.
Cassidy steeled herself and said a mental, sorry, babyto Elijah before resuming her forward trajectory toward the register. Once there, she pointedly ignored his scrutiny. She watched Lonnie and the little boy count in a painstakingly slow fashion, aware the entire time she was the sole focus of the man. She didn’t want to glance his way, but she couldn’t help herself; his staring was distracting.
And juststandingthere, he was a force. He filled the entire store. He may as well have been in her direct physical space, sucking the oxygen out of her lungs. It was unnerving, having him note every time she looked his way as she took in more details of him in quick glances. He was an overall darkly gorgeous man with long black lashes, the hint of a tattoo on his left bicep peeking out from under his T-shirt sleeve, the fit of his jeans relaxed but sculpted to showcase he was very definitely a man. They were well worn, the buttons at the fly faded out.
When she realized she was checking out his package—even though he wasn’t exactly hiding it—and it wasright there, she quickly averted her eyes. What the hell was wrong with her? It wasn’t curiosity, but he did exude that vibe—sex. Unequivocally. She knew he noticed her involuntary interest; he focused on her as a cat would on a mouse.
She wasn’t sure what about her had caught his interest. Despite his misogynistic comments (which she assumed he applied to all women across the board in his condescending, deep, gravelly voice), Cassidy didn’t attract a lot of male attention. She preferrednotto attract attention; she hadn’t been concerned about it since meeting Elijah, and she couldn’t imagine a woman crying in the Trading Post would be of interest to anyone. Of course, everyone here knew her, so she wasn’t a novelty.
She knew she was attractive; she’d heard it her entire life, and she wasn’t going to play coy. Elijah had praised her beauty, but he was biased. She also knew she wasn’t a runway model, a Playboy Bunny, or some sultry siren.
And now, because she had no reason to, she didn’t put much effort into herself. She knew what this man saw: her clothes were too big on her frame; she was taller than most men went for at five foot seven. She wasn’t petite, but her breasts weren’t huge, although obvious enough beneath her sweatshirt. Her hair cascaded past her shoulders, and her hazel eyes were unremarkable.
At the thought, she tried not to let her internal amusement show that a woman possessing all of her teeth was probably a step up for him. And clean; she bathed regularly. His taste toward lower grade items—the beer, for instance—made herlooklike a supermodel compared to his usual. Yes, she was bitchy. No, she didn’t care. In a short amount of time, he’d gotten under her skin.
That she even bothered to react to him at all should have given her pause.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him straighten off the counter, and she steeled herself; he was going to talk to her. Usually, she would have no issue making polite conversation with the passers-through, but he wasn’t polite. And he’d caught her crying by the beer.Milk, but whatever. He would either insult her or hit on her, or a combination of the two, after which he would be shocked she wasn’t receptive to him, and it was going to be awkward as hell. More awkward than his rudeness a moment ago; his rudeness now, actually, with his staring.
Lifting her left hand, she ran it nervously through her hair, now glaring at Lonnie in a silent plea for him to count faster. How does one converse with an ill-mannered Neanderthal? She couldn’t bring to mind any man who had rattled her like this one as she sifted through memories of working in the bar.
Unexpectedly, he relaxed back against the counter with a “Huh.”
Glancing at him, she realized he was looking at her hand—at her wedding ring. Her heart raced, and she sent up a silent thank you to her husband for intervening.
She was shocked the man appeared to have boundaries. He wasn’t going to hit on a married woman. Still, his eyes traversed her as though he had the right, as though he was enjoying the mental exercise of touching every place he surveyed.
Lonnie turned his attention to the man, dragging the case of beer over as the little boy merrily ran out with his bag of Cheetos. “This all you want, man?”