A Guy Walks Into My Bar - Lauren Blakely Page 0,19
last word—an admission that he wants me the same damn way I want him.
I watch as he walks away this time.
It’s a great view.
I can’t enjoy it too much, though, because a familiar voice pops up behind me.
“I’d say that was successful.”
I whip around, and there’s Emma with shopping bags full of used books.
“What luck that there was a used bookstore right down the road,” she says. “And that I just happened to see my brother making out in the street.”
I grin. “Why hide my talents when the public should see them?”
She laughs. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re a little sneak.”
“Not a sneak. Just an excellent wingwoman.”
I want to disagree, but I can still taste Dean’s kiss on my mouth. Then, of course, there’s his number in my phone.
And tea tomorrow.
And the promise of something else too, if my kiss worked the way I hope it did.
9
Dean
A man cannot survive a force of nature without reinforcements.
When a hurricane barrels toward your city, you batten down the hatches.
The same strategy applies to Hurricane Fitz.
So I make sure that I squeeze in time for a run before I’m due at The Magpie. Running centers me. Clears my head. Gives me time to think.
After all, I’m a thinker, as he said.
I scoff at that label as I run alongside the Thames, logging another mile as I go.
But he’s right. That’s my style—I contemplate.
As I run, I imagine a sheet of paper, and I’m sketching out the pros and cons of a few red-hot, smoking nights with a visitor who’s taking off soon.
On the one hand, I don’t date younger guys.
On the other hand, we’re not going to have a relationship. Also, he’s only four years younger, as I learned today.
On the one hand, he’s a customer, and that’s against the rules.
On the other hand, he can’t be a customer after the end of this week.
On the one hand, he’s leaving in five days.
On the other hand, he’s also leaving in five days.
“What’s the worst that can happen in such a short time?” I ask out loud.
“That is an excellent question. Inquiring minds want to know.”
I swivel around, slowing my pace as my mate Sam comes alongside. We started the run together, but I peeled ahead, and now he’s caught up to me.
“Talking out loud? Still hearing voices in your head?” Sam’s dark eyes glint as usual. He grins like he’s got a secret that no one else knows.
“I was drawing an important conclusion,” I say.
“Do tell. Was it about drinks or cooking or the state of the world? Or wait! Was it some piece of secondhand furniture you can’t decide whether to buy or not? Or maybe a book you want, and you’re going to go read twenty reviews before you pull the trigger on a nine-pound purchase?”
“Are you my friend? Or have you switched to my foe?”
He claps me on the back as we run. “In two short years of knowing you, I’ve learned that you deliberate on everything,” he says.
I slow down as we near the edge of Jubilee Gardens. “If you must know, I was debating whether I ever wanted to play pool in your pub again.”
“And you decided Sticks and Stones is the only way to go. Very nice, my man. Very nice.” He narrows his eyes. “But I bet you’re lying.”
“Dickhead,” I mutter.
“I see you’re picking up our American lingo. Excellent.”
“We use ‘dickhead’ here in the UK too,” I point out to my friend who opened a pub a couple of years ago with his then-wife, an English woman who just put him through the wringer in a hellish divorce. But hey, he got the bar. “On account of having so many dickheads here in London,” I say as I wiggle my brows.
“Ouch. Who’s the foe now?”
“Sorry, not sorry. You had it coming.”
“That is true. Anyway, don’t tell me what you’re pondering. I’ll just imagine it’s whether you should buy new cookware or the latest political thriller.”
“The ribbing. Dear God, the ribbing.” I groan, scrubbing a hand across my face before I shoot him a look. “If you must know, I’m contemplating a hookup.”
He scoffs. “What’s to ponder? If you like the person, and the energy is there, go for it. But no clingers, K?”
“Never again.”
He points to the edge of the park and the path leading to his flat. “Come by this week. Play a round. Try not to hustle all my patrons.”
I bring my hand to my heart. “Me? Hustle your patrons? Never.”