Page 5 of Hale Damage
Hot Guy doesn’t back down. “Yep. Forced to once again kiss the sweetest lips I’ve ever tasted.” His exaggerated sigh tells me he’s about to say something teasing. “But I’m a man who will sacrifice his body for a gorgeous woman.”
And what a body it is. I can feel the hard planes of his chest beneath his dark-gray shirt, and I have no doubt there’s a matching set of abs a bit lower.And lower than that?the dirtiest part of my brain asks.Do you think there’s something hard you might like behind that zipper?
“Your sacrifice has been duly noted. How will I ever repay you?” My tone is flirty chick topped with a drizzle of damsel in distress.
“You could let me buy you a drink,” Hot Guy suggests, and I realize I should probably call him something besides Hot Guy.
“I don’t even know your name.”
His lips quirk on one side as a Pitbull song comes on, the quick beats blaring over the speakers.
“I’m Joe,” he yells. Something about that weird smile on his lips makes me think it’s a fake name, and I should probably do the same.
But before I can think of anything good, I find myself saying, “I’m Mindy.”
“Minnie?” he asks, tilting his ear toward me over the noise.
Fuck it. I roll with it and double down. “Yes, Minnie.”
“Very pretty. Now that we’re properly introduced, can I buy you a drink?”
“Yes, if you can find a waitress. I’ve tried to flag her down?—”
Before I can finish, Joe lifts a single finger, and the waitress appears like she’s a genie and someone just rubbed her lamp.
“What can I get for you, sir?” she asks breathlessly. I roll my eyes, but she’s focused on Joe. It wouldn’t surprise me if she humped his leg in the middle of this club.
“I’ll have a Johnny Walker Blue Label, and my date will have…” He looks at me.
“A cosmo,” I reply, noting he’s chosen a very pricy scotch.
“A cosmo,” he repeats to the waitress. “And is there a quieter table where we could sit. It’s loud here by the dance floor.”
“Of course,” the woman says, practically genuflecting. “I’ll get one of the booths ready for you.”
I have no idea how it happened because the tables in the back section have been occupied all evening, but somehow, five minutes later, we’re seated in one of the round booths with navy velvet upholstery. There’s simply something commanding about Joe.
Need a waitress? Boom. One appears. Want a quieter booth? Snap. There’s a coveted booth suddenly available.
“Do you always get what you want?” I ask, stirring my drink with a tiny straw.
Joe’s eyes drop down my body, but it doesn’t give me the ick like when Duck Face did it. His gaze returns to mine, and his brown eyes twinkle. “Not yet.”
Fuck. Me.That was a really sexy answer.
“Very smooth, Joe,” I say, and his forehead furrows for a second before the wrinkles flatten. Yeah, his name is definitely not Joe.
“Tell me something about yourself, Minnie.”
My mind flips through all the ways I could answer that open-ended request. I could tell him my occupation or where I live or any number of things, but I don’t. I tell him something most people find weird about me.
“I collect salt and pepper shakers.”
His eyebrows rise, and I want to kick myself, but he angles his body toward me like he’s actually interested. “What’s your favorite set?”
A smile rips across my face. “A set of cabbage-shaped ones. They were my grandmother’s.” My teeth sink into my bottom lip. “It’s vintage. They have the most intricate details painted on them, like you can see every little leaf and vein, the kinds of details you don’t see on mass-produced items nowadays.”
Joe places his arm around the back of my seat, his fingers resting lightly on my shoulder. “I love that. Do you know who the artist was?”
