Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“Drink?”
“Just a diet soda for me. The martini last week left me with a headache,” I tell her.
Actually, I’m sure the pain behind my eyes had more to do with my lack of sleep than anything else, but I’m not going to risk it again this week.
“Go grab that huge booth over there, so we have room for more people.” My eyes follow the point of her finger, and as much as I hate going over there alone, I shove that annoyance down and do as she says.
It seems a little busier tonight, and I studiously avoid looking around the bar.
“Are you having a good night?”
I look up to see a man standing at the edge of the table. He’s smiling down at me with a half-empty bottle of beer in his hand.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw you sit down all alone. My name is—”
“She’s not alone.”
Both of our heads snap in the direction of the rough voice. I frown at Quinten, somehow grateful for saving me from this guy but also annoyed at the same time.
The guy, on the other hand, cowers back like a kicked puppy. His head literally dips like he’s about to be swatted with a rolled-up newspaper for being disobedient.
The guy scurries away as Quinten takes a seat on the far opposite side of the half-moon booth. Jude grabs a chair from an empty table and pulls it up to the edge of our area.
“Maybe I wanted to talk to him.”
“I’m good, thanks,” he says in an attempted fake female voice. His own voice is so deep, it doesn’t work at all. “Didn’t exactly sound like you were receptive.”
“I don’t sound like that, and even if I didn’t want to speak with him, it’s not your place to run men off when they try to speak to me. I can handle myself.”
He smiles at me, and I want to smack the infuriating condescension from his handsome face—not handsome, Hayden—just face.
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
“You’re assuming there will be a nex—”
“Hey, how did you beat us here?”
At Parker’s voice, I notice both guys are holding cold beers.
“Scoot.” Parker nudges Quinten’s side with her hip, but he doesn’t budge.
He looks up at her like she’s lost her mind before standing with a flourish of his arm to indicate her sitting on the inside.
“So gallant,” she says with a flutter of her eyelashes.
I would laugh if I hadn’t been a witness to her over-the-top flirting before.
“I don’t exactly fit comfortably under the table,” Quinten says as he settles back on the edge of the seat. Parker hasn’t given him much room, and I know that is purposeful.
I glare at my friend, but instead of a conspiratorial smile, she’s angling her head, darting her eyes toward Jude. The man hasn’t said a word since he arrived. It’s clear he’s about as comfortable as I am in situations like this.
Parker’s eyes widen when I don’t open my mouth. I imagine in her head, Jude is the perfect guy for me, and I can admit he’s good looking, but I don’t feel a spark when I look at him.
Granted, right now, I only feel a little irritation when I look at Quinten, but then that changes when I watch him lift his beer bottle to his lips. I dash away the image of licking that drop of beer left behind on his lip. I don’t even like beer. His tongue would taste like hops, and his fingers would be cold from touching the glass bottle.
“Are you okay?” Jude asks.
“Wh-what?”
Parker chuckles, and Quinten shifts in his seat.
“You made like a grunting noise. Is something wrong?”
“I’m fine,” I snap, giving Jude a weak smile in apology. “So, you work with Mr. Lake?”
“Mr. Lake,” Quinten grumbles as he shakes his head.
“We both work at Blackbridge Security,” Jude confirms.
The conversation stays just as stilted as other women from the class begin to trickle in. They hover closely but don’t really insert themselves into the four-person group we created.
The ice melts in my soda before I remember that Parker brought me a drink. When I nibble on the straw, Quinten watches me. When I trace my finger down the condensation on the glass, Quinten watches me. When Parker flirts with him, Quinten watches me.
I feel his eyes on me all night long, but not once does he speak directly to me unless I ask him a question first.
The scrutiny in his gaze makes me self-conscious, and I find myself pushing my hair behind my ear more than once just to have something to do with my hands.
He watches me do that, too.
“Ready to go?” I ask Parker after an hour in the booth.
“Already?” She frowns but moves out of the booth when Quinten stands.
“See you guys next week,” I mumble before turning toward the door.