any day of the week. “I should be offended but since I’m not an actor, I find that strangely refreshing.”
“I’m not here to impress anyone,” he adds.
“Oh, I can tell.” I smile bigger and extend my hand. “Jen.”
He pauses and looks me up and down for a split second, warring with himself. After giving his head a minute shake, he puts his large hand in mine with a very firm grip. “Eli.”
“Eli, the politically incorrect, straight-talking, new guy in town. Welcome to the Big D.”
He doesn’t let go of my hand, hesitating, but I’ll never know what he was going to say because we’re interrupted and his hand is ripped from mine.
“Jensen-fucking-Montgomery!” Becca yells over the music as she breaks our hold like in a Red Rover playground game. Her sloppy grin is wild and her hair even wilder from dancing. She shoves another glass at me, this one is filled with pink liquid and has an orange slice tucked on the rim. I start to shake my head and push the drink back at her, but she interrupts. “Those guys who’ve been eyeing us for the last hour finally got off their asses and sent us drinks.”
Rolling my eyes, I glance over my shoulder toward the duo Becca has been talking about for what seems longer than an hour. Sending a drink is lame and cliché, not to mention, I have no clue what this is.
Becca lifts her glass to her lips and takes a sip, shrugging. “Cosmos. It’s not the same in a highball, but whatever. Still good.”
I don’t take a drink and not because I hate cranberry juice, but because it’s late, and, again, I’m bloated and should’ve been out of here two hours ago. Not to mention, I don’t know if this came straight from a waiter. No way am I drinking this even though Becca will no matter what. It’s past one in the morning and as I hold a fresh drink from some lame-ass man who thinks all women love fruity drinks, I decide it’s time to get out of here. I shove the glass back at her. “I’m not drinking this and you shouldn’t be either. I’m texting Donny.”
I pull out my cell to call for the car that’s been on hold all night, but Becca pleads, “Noooo. You’re a fucking workaholic and we never get to see you. We’re closing the place down. I won’t take no for an answer.”
I shake my head and press send. It shouldn’t take long for my driver to get here. “Sorry, Becca. What can I say? I can’t keep up with you anymore. If you want to stay, I’ll send Donny back for you and the rest of the girls so you don’t have to Uber.”
She huffs and nudges me with her elbow, sloshing her drink in the process, but she’s at the point where she just doesn’t give a fuck. “Are you kidding me? You work circles around everyone in that company and you’re going to stand there and tell me you can’t stay for one more hour to close the bar? I call bullshit.”
“You know I have no choice but to put in long hours. I have to prove—”
I trip over my words when her eyes go big as she looks over my shoulder right before she announces in a way that is not cool or low-key, “Oh, shit. Here they come!”
I turn and she’s right.
Dammit. Not only do I have to tear myself away from Becca and the girls, but now these guys, too.
“Hi!” Becca’s voice is too high as she bats her lash extensions and thrusts the cosmo back at me. I only take it so I don’t wear it. Plastering her Miss Ft. Worth First Runner-Up winning smile from back in the day across her pretty face, she goes on. “Thanks for the drinks.”
“How have you ladies not been snatched up by this time of night?”
I do my best not to groan and look up at the not quite middle-aged man and his friend. The leader of the duo has dirty blond hair that’s perfectly messy, falling over his sun-kissed forehead. It’s late October and, unless he works outside for a living, which I highly doubt, that tan utters nothing but vanity. His eyes come to me and a slow smile spreads across his perfect, all-American-man face. When his lips part, I’m surprised his teeth don’t twinkle like a cartoon from over-bleaching.
His partner in crime isn’t any less beautiful … if