Page 11 of Someone Exactly Like Me (Wounded Hearts 1)
“Okay, hurry up though. If you’re not there soon, I’m coming to get you.” She extends her arm toward me as she dance-walks away, pointing at me.
I raise my martini as if to say, “Okay.” Sliding into the barstool, I’ve given up trying to make the fabric cover my legs and cross them. Turning toward the group, I sip my drink and watch them dance, bobbing my head to the beat.
Drink in his hand, Nicco starts walking toward me. There’s that slow-motion time-warp thing again. The alcohol must be hitting me harder than I thought. Dear God, this man is hot. I take another sip of my martini.
As he walks toward me, he shifts his gaze from me to the group and then back to me. Once he reaches me, he slides into the barstool next to mine. The stale smell of smoke radiates off him and into my nose. Once again, I hold back my grimace from the foul smell.
“No more dancing?” he asks, setting his drink on top of the bar.
“I’m just taking a break.” I consider getting up and joining the others, but don’t want to be rude. I’m hungry so I spoon some tuna tartar onto a plate and scoop it up with a toastette, hoping to get the bite into my mouth and not drop it in my lap.
“So, tell me, Destiny, what do you do for work?” He lifts the tumbler to his lips and sips his whiskey then looks at me.
I turn my stool to face the bar and conceal my exposed legs. Wishing my body didn’t react so strongly to him, I clench my thighs together. “I’m a romance author.” Taking a drink of my martini, I try to breathe normally.
He nods, looking down into his drink. “What kind of romance do you write?”
“Not the kind you make movies about.” Oh, how I wish the alcohol hadn’t destroyed my ability to filter my thoughts before words fly out of my mouth.
He puts his glass on the bar and turns his stool toward me with a sexy grin on his face. “You’ve seen my work then, yes?”
Oh God.He studies my face. I hope it doesn’t look as red as it feels.
I clear my throat, trying to buy time for my brain to think straight. “Um, yes. It was suggested to me.”
“And what did you think?”
“Great work. Nicely done.” I sound like a bumbling fool. “What I write isn’t quite so — graphic.”
A laugh bursts out of him that he tempers. “So, what are your stories like?”
“Well, I do have some steamy scenes.” I can’t look at him as I say it. “But I also make sure to build the relationship between my characters. There’s a lot of heart and soul mate connection.”
“You believe in soul mates?”
“Well, I write about them.”
He shoots me a cunning smile. “But do you believe in them?”
“Maybe I live in a fantasy world, but I like to think there’s someone specific out there for each of us.” I clench my teeth, starting to feel like I have to defend my work and my beliefs, even though I’m starting to doubt them myself. I change the subject. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know. Giovanna’s been shooting daggers at me all night. Maybe you should go be with her.” Glancing over at Giovanna, I catch another piercing stare.
“You don’t want to talk to me?”
I almost thought I detected the smallest hint of hurt as he asked the question.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just…” I stammer. “She doesn’t seem too happy that you’re talking to me.”
“I’ll decide who I spend my time with and who I talk to. And I’m not the least bit interested in Gigi,” he deadpans. “Iamenjoying your company however.” He leans in, ever so slightly, tilts his head down, and shifts his gaze quickly to my mouth then back up to my eyes. The air around us is still and somehow quiet in spite of the thumping music.
“Oh. I thought you were…together.” Especially after she basically peed around you in a circle earlier.
“Gigi?” He uprights himself, glances at her, and looks back at me. “No. Never. Gigi’s been chasing me since we were kids. She’s like a little sister to me.”
“She doesn’t look at you like you’re a big brother.” I shake my head and raise an eyebrow. “Still, I’m sure there’s a ton of women here you’d rather spend your time with. You don’t need to talk to me because it’s my birthday. Besides, I’m not your type.”Mr. Playboy.
Never releasing my gaze, he asks, “No? So, what’s my type?”
I clasp together my clammy palms, wishing I could sink into the floor and slither away. I’ll answer his question then excuse myself and find Candi to let her know I’m leaving.
