Page 18 of Rogue Romeo
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat while she goes about her business.
Darcy has been a Godsend.
Having unburdened my circumstances onto the willing ears of a complete stranger, she’d floored me by offering me room and board in the small apartment attached to the back of the pub while I find my feet again.
She was sad to say that she had no extra shifts to offer me. However, she said she would be only too glad to help train me up as a bartender, citing that tips in some upscale places in Manhattan would help cover the exorbitant cost of Lita’s care.
At least until the end…
I’d been so overwhelmed by the support of someone I’d literally just met that I’d all but run to the restroom to sob uncontrollably.
When I’d finally gathered myself together enough to re-emerge, I’d been mortified to find a handsome stranger had taken up residence at the far end of the bar. But once he’d begun talking, I’d strangely felt at ease.
“Liv—that best friend I mentioned—would say ‘penny for your thoughts’ if she were here.”
His entirely delicious British accent sends a shiver along my spine, and I glance over my shoulder as he sits on the stool beside mine. My stomach dips precariously when his scent engulfs my senses, setting them alight.
When my eyes land on his face, my pulse kicks up a hundred notches, and butterfliesliterallytake flight in the recesses of my stomach.
He is, without a doubt, the most attractive man I’ve ever seen up close.
Brown hair falls across his face, almost covering the most expressive and unusual whiskey-colored eyes I’ve ever seen. His olive skin makes those distinctive orbs even more devastating.
His face is a masterpiece of unparalleled beauty when his mouth lifts in a devastating smile that assuredly has had more than its fair share of women bending over backward just to catch a glimpse.
It’s like the sun appearing in the sky after a thunderstorm.
Blindingly beautiful while warming me to my very marrow.
I don’t have time for guys...
I repeat my mantra from before while I ignore the tingles his woodsy scent is sending to my long-unused female parts as I rapidly scan the recesses of my suddenly incompetent brain for a reasonable reply. “I was just thinking that I don’t know you, and my abuela told me all about stranger danger, so…”
A deep laugh rumbles in his broad chest as I trail off, taking a sip of the rum and Coke in front of me.
“I’m Alex.” He extends his hand. “I’m twenty-nine. A Leo through and through.” He flashes an entirely too contagious shit-eating grin that makes my lips tug upward despite myself. “I work at DeMarco Holdings on Wall Street, though I’m originally from the UK, and, random fact, my favorite food is arancini.”
I smile, sliding my palm along his and squeezing lightly as my pulse quickens from the simple act of shaking this man’s rugged hand. “I’m Reyna. I’m twenty-four. A Capricorn, if you must know, and I’m currently unemployed as of this morning.” Understanding alights his face as I continue. “I grew up in Connecticut, but moved to Manhattan for school when I was eighteen. Andmyfavorite food is my abuelita’s tamales.”
Slowly shaking my hand, his smile reaches those warm amber eyes. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Reyna.”
His hand lingers in mine for a beat longer, making my heart hiccup in response. His eyes languidly drift across the contours of my face before he severs the connection to pluck his tumbler of whisky from the bar.
“I’m sorry to hear of your recent unemployment. I can talk to HR to see if there’s a suitable position at DeMarco—”
I cut him off before he can finish that sentence. “Thank you. Truly, but I think I’m done with Wall Street and the hordes of assholes it seems to breed. No offense.”
He chuckles into his whisky. “None taken. In fact, I concur wholeheartedly. They’re a load of wankers.”
My smile is bright, and the weight on my shoulders feels lighter as I take another sip of my drink. I settle deeper into my stool, feeling a variation of relief for the first time in what feels like forever.
“What did you study?”
I turn toward him, setting my drink back on the bar. “Dance. I was at the Pearson School of the Arts…for a time.”
His brows almost hit his hairline. “Wow, that’s amazing!” He shakes his head in disbelief. “They’re notoriously picky. You must be really good.”
“Once upon a time, maybe.” I can’t help the self-deprecatory laugh that spills from my lips. “I don’t remember the last time I danced for anyone besidesmi abuela, to be honest.”