of their booth. “You mean that guy with the long hair and…damn. Those are some serious biceps. And triceps. And”—she squinted—“all ceps.” She slowly dropped back into her seat. “Speaking of smokin’-hot bad-ass sex gods.”
Tessa rolled her eyes again. “Excellent, since ‘smokin’-hot bad-ass sex god’ was at the top of my donor checklist.”
Jocelyn took another look, and then turned back to face the booth, her eyes wide like she’d seen something unspeakable. “He certainly looks like he’d make a potent…protein smoothie.”
Zoe’s smile wavered. “And, oh wow, I think he’s—”
“Enough,” Tessa ordered. “I don’t care if he looks like Channing Tatum’s twin brother.”
“He kinda does,” Zoe said. “Only hotter. Is that even possible?”
They couldn’t help it; they didn’t know what it was like to be in her position. “Guys, I was kidding, okay? I’m not going to walk up to some guy and say—”
“You don’t have to,” Zoe said softly.
Tessa closed her eyes and raised her beer bottle in the air. “Hey, smokin’-hot bad-ass sex god with the long hair and deadly tattoos, can you fill ’er up with some of your potent liquid gold?”
Silence. Dead silence.
Tessa opened her eyes. She felt the presence more than saw it in her peripheral vision. Something smokin’ hot, bad ass, and—
“Liquid Gold? Is that a local brew?”
Oh, man. Sex god was really kind of an understatement.
In Ian’s experience, they didn’t usually keep the best-looking one hidden like this. Normally, females used the real beauties as bait. But this girl hadn’t even gone out of her way to check him out. And that made the sweet-faced beer drinker begging for action even more appealing.
The blonde who’d been staring at him for the last ten minutes wasn’t his type. The one with the wild red curls sported a shiny gold wedding band, and the other one was a little too conservative for his tastes.
But the hottie tucked into the corner was just right, looking at him with wide eyes a shade darker than the amber beer bottle she slowly lowered to the table. She wore barely a hint of makeup, so Ian could see her creamy complexion deepen with a flush as they held eye contact for one heartbeat past casual.
“Beer’s a good choice in a place like this,” he said, rattling the ice in his rocks glass. “The scotch is watered-down piss.”
Surprise flickered in her eyes. Because of the curse word, or had the pisswater been enough to bring out his accent? After all these years, he should know better than to slip and give away his British birth.
“What was that beer called again?” he asked.
“It was…a joke,” she said, so softly he almost didn’t hear her over the bar ruckus.
“Can I get you something else, then?”
“No, thanks. I’m…fine.”
“You sure are.”
The other three reacted instantly.
“We need to hit the ladies’ room,” one of the women said, sliding out to make room for him. “Coming, Zoe?”
The blonde scooted out, too. “We’ll refresh the drinks.” She turned to the redhead and gave a look with all the subtlety of a baseball bat. “Coming, Lacey?”
“Oh yeah.” She nodded and gave an equally transparent raised eyebrow to the woman in the corner. “Hold the booth for us, Tessa. I’m sure we’ll be a good long while.”
Ian nodded his gratitude. “We’ll guard it with our lives.” He slid right into the vacated seat next to his doe-eyed target, trapping her in the corner and getting a whiff of something flowery and clean. “Tessa. Pretty. Short for something?”
Finally, she slid him a sideways look, long lashes tapering into the kind of distrustful gaze he’d been eliciting for a few years. If the tattoos, gym time, or total disregard for a haircut didn’t scare them, the bike parked out front usually did.
“Just Tessa,” she said as her friends disappeared into the bar, leaving laughter and chatter in their wake.
“Just Tessa,” he repeated. Not to be funny, but because he’d want to remember the name tomorrow morning when he was rooting around the floor of her flat looking for his jeans. Apartment, dickhead, not flat.
“I’m John, by the way.”
She hinted at a smile. “Hello, John Bytheway.”
Cute. “John Brown.”
“That sounds fake.”
Because it is. “So tell me something about yourself, Tessa, other than the fact that you like”—he turned the beer bottle and read the label—“Belgian White Wheat Ale.” Bloody Americans would buy anything they thought was from Europe.
“Blue Moon’s my favorite…” She inched back. “Blue Moon,” she said softly, her whole face lighting up in a way that took her from good-looking to gorgeous