metro-geek guys who were sweet enough until they called her a bitch for friend-zoning them.
“You don’t have to be in your thirties to be sexy and smart.” A lingering gaze swept over her. “Both of which I’d say you are.”
A slow smile crept across her lips. “More selling points?”
“Definitely,” he murmured, holding her eyes, his own dark and heated. Something about the way he looked at her—the confidence in it, the promise, the easy, casual certainty in himself—made her shiver. Definitely not her usual. And if he kept looking at her that way, she’d probably do something reckless she’d definitely never tell her friends about. She didn’t need to listen to pointless slut-shaming over a little harmless fun.
…she wasn’t actually considering this, was she?
Thank God, the bartender was back with her coffee. She didn’t need to be thinking about making those kinds of mistakes with some overconfident weirdo she’d barely met.
She turned away from him and toyed with the handle of her coffee mug; its warmth soaked into her fingers. “You,” she said, “are definitely doing a better job of distracting me.”
“How about flirting?” he asked. His jeans rasped against the barstool’s cracked vinyl as he shifted closer. The scent of his leather jacket blended with a crisp hint of aftershave and a certain primal male musk. “How am I doing at that?”
Deep breaths. “I’ll let you know after you buy me my next coffee.”
“So flattery and a mocha latte are the way to a woman’s heart.”
“Not necessarily my heart, but you’re talking your way into my good graces.”
He laughed, picked up his mug, and slid off the stool. “C’mon.” He tossed his head toward a booth. “I don’t know about you, but these barstools are chapping my ass.”
Zero rolled her eyes, but rose and followed him to the booth. Still an asshole, she thought. He draped his coat over the back of the seat; she tucked her hoodie and messenger bag into the booth and slid in across from him. “So what do you do, hm?”
“The usual. Suit and tie. I’m more interested in honing my flirting skills than talking about work.”
“Great. Now I’m practice.” She snorted, trailing into a laugh.
She was still laughing hours later, when she glanced down at her watch. Her stomach dropped out. She couldn’t believe how late it had gotten; Evan had completely distracted her. She’d thought he’d stop being funny once the lemon drops were out of her system, but three hours and five coffees later, here she was. He’d teased. She’d rebuffed. He’d flirted. She’d avoided. But she kept finding her gaze returning to that sinful mouth, her thoughts drifting until he dragged them back with another question or smartass comment.
But smartass comments wouldn’t keep her going in the morning. She slid to her feet and into her hoodie. “It’s midnight. I should be in bed. I still have to go listen to that douchenozzle tomorrow.”
“Douchenozzle? Creative.” He rose with her, shrugging broad, powerful shoulders into his leather jacket. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.” At her skeptical look, he laughed. “Seriously, I just want to make sure you get home safe.”
“I stopped being tipsy four coffees ago.”
“I know. But it’s after midnight, and this is New York.”
“For all you know, I live a two-hour train ride away.”
“Then we’d better find something to talk about,” he said, and gestured toward the door with a bow. “After you.”
Zero eyed him, then groaned, shouldered her bag, and headed for the door. “You’re not getting off the train with me,” she said.
“Of course not.”
He got off the train with her.
They took the twenty-minute ride in easy silence, pressed close on the narrow subway seats, the hard heat of his thigh sandwiched against hers, their bodies brushing together each time the train jolted. God, he smelled good. She was way too sober for what she was thinking right
“You don’t have to be in your thirties to be sexy and smart.” A lingering gaze swept over her. “Both of which I’d say you are.”
A slow smile crept across her lips. “More selling points?”
“Definitely,” he murmured, holding her eyes, his own dark and heated. Something about the way he looked at her—the confidence in it, the promise, the easy, casual certainty in himself—made her shiver. Definitely not her usual. And if he kept looking at her that way, she’d probably do something reckless she’d definitely never tell her friends about. She didn’t need to listen to pointless slut-shaming over a little harmless fun.
…she wasn’t actually considering this, was she?
Thank God, the bartender was back with her coffee. She didn’t need to be thinking about making those kinds of mistakes with some overconfident weirdo she’d barely met.
She turned away from him and toyed with the handle of her coffee mug; its warmth soaked into her fingers. “You,” she said, “are definitely doing a better job of distracting me.”
“How about flirting?” he asked. His jeans rasped against the barstool’s cracked vinyl as he shifted closer. The scent of his leather jacket blended with a crisp hint of aftershave and a certain primal male musk. “How am I doing at that?”
Deep breaths. “I’ll let you know after you buy me my next coffee.”
“So flattery and a mocha latte are the way to a woman’s heart.”
“Not necessarily my heart, but you’re talking your way into my good graces.”
He laughed, picked up his mug, and slid off the stool. “C’mon.” He tossed his head toward a booth. “I don’t know about you, but these barstools are chapping my ass.”
Zero rolled her eyes, but rose and followed him to the booth. Still an asshole, she thought. He draped his coat over the back of the seat; she tucked her hoodie and messenger bag into the booth and slid in across from him. “So what do you do, hm?”
“The usual. Suit and tie. I’m more interested in honing my flirting skills than talking about work.”
“Great. Now I’m practice.” She snorted, trailing into a laugh.
She was still laughing hours later, when she glanced down at her watch. Her stomach dropped out. She couldn’t believe how late it had gotten; Evan had completely distracted her. She’d thought he’d stop being funny once the lemon drops were out of her system, but three hours and five coffees later, here she was. He’d teased. She’d rebuffed. He’d flirted. She’d avoided. But she kept finding her gaze returning to that sinful mouth, her thoughts drifting until he dragged them back with another question or smartass comment.
But smartass comments wouldn’t keep her going in the morning. She slid to her feet and into her hoodie. “It’s midnight. I should be in bed. I still have to go listen to that douchenozzle tomorrow.”
“Douchenozzle? Creative.” He rose with her, shrugging broad, powerful shoulders into his leather jacket. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.” At her skeptical look, he laughed. “Seriously, I just want to make sure you get home safe.”
“I stopped being tipsy four coffees ago.”
“I know. But it’s after midnight, and this is New York.”
“For all you know, I live a two-hour train ride away.”
“Then we’d better find something to talk about,” he said, and gestured toward the door with a bow. “After you.”
Zero eyed him, then groaned, shouldered her bag, and headed for the door. “You’re not getting off the train with me,” she said.
“Of course not.”
He got off the train with her.
They took the twenty-minute ride in easy silence, pressed close on the narrow subway seats, the hard heat of his thigh sandwiched against hers, their bodies brushing together each time the train jolted. God, he smelled good. She was way too sober for what she was thinking right
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