Like a Fox Read Free Page A

attraction to him. He was a man , and I was ready for one.
    “Twenty-four’s not a child,” Chloe chastises.
    “You know what I mean. He needs a woman .” I still feel like a teenager half the time, and the other half I haven’t a clue what being an adult actually means.
    My sister shrugs, “Sounds like excuses to me.”
    “I’m not like you. I can’t just bat my lashes and have guys fawn over me.”
    “You could,” Flynn encourages.
    “Maybe, but that’s not me, nor do I want it to be.” I have insecurities and uncertainties just like everybody else, but for the most part I’m happy with who I am.
    The food comes and the table drops the subject.
    I dare a peek over at the bar every so often. Tight Buns remains focused on his beer and food, but occasionally his eyes roam, looking through the mirror behind the bar while he chews. A few times he catches me staring. I smile, but it is never returned.
    I know he isn’t interested; I know how interested people behave. However, it doesn’t stop me from lusting after him. That’s the horrible reality of crushes.
    “We need more beer,” Flynn pouts in his cute, boyish way. The brewery’s at its maximum capacity and we haven’t seen our waitress come by.
    “I’ll go get some,” my mouth stupidly suggests without my permission. I know what my body wants: to be close to his, like this is middle school and I’m finding an excuse to tug on his hair.
    They all smirk knowingly and I stick out my tongue.
    Yup, definitely not old enough for a man in his thirties.
    Rollercoasters zoom around in my stomach as I approach the crowded bar. I wait on the outskirts for an opportunity to slip in. Miraculously, the crowd parts and a path becomes available that will land me right next to Tight Buns, who has his body twisted on the stool, surveying me. I then notice so is the sea of parted people who made room for me, waiting impatiently for me to move. I thank them as I pass, sliding through. They close in around me. I’m now sandwiched between a woman on a barstool and Tight Buns.
    “Hi,” I feel the need to say even though he has gone back to his meal. “Did you get them to let me in?”
    He nods, wiping his mouth with the napkin on his lap.
    “Thanks.”
    He places a finger up to get the attention of the bartender. I’m about to tell him that won’t work when one appears. I’m shocked; you normally have to be pretty aggressive to get served.
    They are staring at me, waiting for my order. I request two pitchers, one of each of my friends’ favorites.
    Tight Buns frowns at me. It makes me uneasy, like I’ve said something wrong.
    “Why do you do that?”
    I jump in surprise at the sound of his voice, rich and deep, his accent sending chills down my spine. What is it about men with accents?
    I clear my throat, “Excuse me?”
    He motions towards the bartender getting my pitchers, “Order what your friends like and you don’t.”
    Now I frown and respond in a defensive tone, “I like them.”
    The way he eyes me makes it seem like he knows I’m lying.
    He goes back to his own drink and I wait for my pitchers.
    “I’m Freya by the way.”
    “I know.”
    I figured, since it’s on my nametag at work. I just hoped it would get him to tell me his.
    A couple of minutes tick by and I have to ask, “And you are?”
    The bartender places down the pitchers. I go to pay but Tight Buns is already laying out his money. He has to reach over to do so, causing his leg to bump mine. He leaves it there.
    I’m momentarily speechless from the explosion of tingles where we connect. I’ve never been so physically attracted to a guy before.
    I force myself to pull it together.
    “Thank you,” I say, referring to the beers. “You really didn’t have to do that.”
    Our eyes meet in the bar mirror and neither one of us looks away, his knee and thigh still against mine.
    I don’t want to leave and stop this warmth spreading through me.
    I see his mouth move in his reflection,