Page 29 of The Quit List
“Barely,” I joke. But I sit. Obediently.
He walks around the bar, flips a dishcloth over one shoulder, and surveys me with squinty eyes that glow in the low, warm light of the restaurant. “What can I do you for?”
For some reason, his narrowed eyes make me nervous. They’re a very intimidating color, sort of like a storm cloud before the rain. He’s wearing a different shirt than the one he wore in the park, and this black, long-sleeved (and very arm-muscle-hugging) shirt makes the slate-gray color of his eyes even more pronounced.
“Um,” I say. I’m parched, and what I want is a cranberry juice mixed with soda water. What I do, however, is flip my hair over my shoulder and say, “Scotch, neat.”
I don’t know if it’s because I’m nervous, but my mouth has a mind of its own right now and it’s going off script, clearly thinking I’m George Clooney or something. Who the hell orders scotch at 5PM on a Monday? Alcoholics and silver foxes, that’s who.
I’m not even sure I’ve had scotch before.
Apparently, chasing down a man I barely know and asking him to help me find a boyfriend has brought out my spontaneous side, which I usually keep good and buried.
Jax raises his eyebrows a touch, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he reaches for a bottle of amber liquid, pours a measure into a nearby glass, and places the glass on the bar with a flourish.
I eye it suspiciously. No ice cubes? Lemon and lime garnish? Not even a chilled glass?
He watches me watch my drink, a small smile playing on the corner of his lips as I sniff it suspiciously and wince.
But before either he or I can say anything, a peppy blond girl bounces up to us. I recognize her as the waitress Jax was talking to the night I came here with Keith. She’s wearing a short black dress with white Keds and her hair is in one of those adorable high ponytails. She’s even prettier up close.
“Um, sorry to interrupt…” she starts. Her expression suggests that she’s anything but sorry.
“You’re not interrupting,” Jax says easily.
“Jax was just helping me with something totally not urgent,” I add to let her know that I’m not encroaching on what may be her territory.
Jax smirks at me. “I’d hate to see what your drink of choice would be for an urgent issue.”
“McDonald’s vanilla milkshake, of course,” I retort. “I like to save the hard stuff for when I’m in times of dire crisis. You know, job losses, natural disasters, celebrity deaths.”
“I can see how that would be a smart avenue. You get fries to dip, too?”
“What do you think I am, an amateur?”
His eyes meet mine, and we share a smile. Hold eye contact for a beat too long before his gaze skates over my face, slowly and deliberately. When he speaks again, his voice has a husky quality that makes my knees a bit wobbly. “Anything but.”
Whoa.
This guy’s good. His dazzling stare would put Edward Cullen to shame. I need to ask him to give me some pointers.
“Are you Jax’s sister or something?” The girl’s voice pulls my attention away from Jax’s hypnotizing eyes. I almost forgot she was here. “The one who’s married to that hot hockey player?”
I shift on the leather barstool and cross my legs. “I wish I was married to a hot hockey player.”
“Kara, this is my new friend Holly.” Jax gestures between the waitress and me. “Holly, Kara.”
I put my hand out and Kara takes it suspiciously. “You guys seem like you’ve known each other forever. Hence why I thought you were related.”
I don’t miss the emphasis on related.
She’s into him. Definitely marking her territory.
She clearly doesn’t know that she has nothing to worry about.
“No, no.” I hold up my hands. “He’s helping me with my Prince Charming.”
Kara visibly relaxes. “Oh, that’s great! Super great!”