Page 18 of Brick
Of course, Brick wasn’t there. She took a seat on one of the black leather bar stools and ordered a Jack and Coke. She downed it in five minutes. She ordered another and stared at the highball glass when the bartender—Brent, according to his nametag—set it in front of her with a crooked smile.
Was he flirting or did he feel sorry for her?
A single woman, drinking away her disappointment at the bar. Another fucking cliché.
This was a mistake.
Her legs ached too much to stand, though. She dragged the glass closer and took a gulp before the ice could melt. Her eyes squeezed shut. The second drink definitely tasted stronger than the first.
“It’s not safe for you to drink by yourself.”
She froze, her hand still wrapped around the glass. She recognized the deep rasp of his voice instantly. Goosebumps broke out on her arms as her body processed his proximity. “Brick,” she breathed, opening her eyes to see the man who refused to leave her thoughts.
His black eye had healed, but his hands were still busted up. A dark T-shirt hugged his barrel chest, and the shadow of a beard crept over his jaw.
She ran her fingers over her lips as she wondered how the bristles would scratch her skin if she kissed him.
He sighed deeply as he sat down on the stool to her left. “What are you doing here, Olivia?”
Thinking of you. “Same thing as you, I’d imagine.” She pushed her drink toward him and lifted her brow.
He answered her unspoken challenge, fitting his lips over the glass where hers had been seconds earlier. He drained the rest of her whiskey in an instant. Nodding to the bartender, he procured a replacement in seconds, but Brent left off the smile with the delivery. Brick didn’t spare him a glance.
He stared at the amber liquid, then swirled the ice around with his finger.
The dozen or so people at the bar had doubled in the past few minutes, but everyone else disappeared into the background. Her focus lasered only on Brick. Inches away from her. Taking up all the air in the room. The sass and confidence she had fueling her at the construction site abandoned her.
When he spoke again, he did it so quietly, the music drifting from the overhead speakers almost drowned it out. “Did you come here to see me?”
Say no. Say no.
“Yes.” Her mouth had broken free from her brain.
“Why?” he asked hoarsely, flexing his fingers on the bar.
She turned to him fully and picked up the hand closest to her; he flinched at the contact. “Your hands are hurt.”
Finally, he pulled his gaze from the whiskey and stared at his big hand in hers.
What a contrast they made. The pads of his thick fingers were darkened by work, his fingernails jagged and worn. Her nails were short and clean, and a gold ring glinted on her pale thumb.
He tried to pull away. “You don’t want to touch them. Trust me. You don’t know where they’ve been.” His voice sounded hollow.
She held on tight. “Brick—”
His dark eyes flashed heat as they locked with hers. “What do you want from me?” he growled. “Are you trying to take a walk on the wild side? You looking for a hard fuck? Because that’s all I’m good for. And you’re better than some cheap quickie. Too good to roll around in the dirt with me.”
“You don’t even know me.” Her temper flared. She was not some kind of porcelain figurine.
He finally succeeded in pulling his hand away, and she felt the loss of his touch in an instant.
“No. You don’tknow me. It’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
“Maybe I want to know you. Is the possibility so hard to believe?”
He reared back at the words, and she wished she could stuff them back in her mouth.
She had to quit making a fool of herself. The man couldn’t have made himself any clearer. She shook her head at her own stupidity and laughed ruefully. When would she learn she couldn’t trust her own instincts when it came to a guy?