He arches a brow. “Fitzgerald? Isn’t that a last name?”
He says it like he’s busting me, and I dig it, the way that he seems to want to question everything.
“Yeah. It is. But everyone calls me that.”
“And what does your sister call you . . . Perhaps, is it James?”
I think I just blushed at the way he said that, all flirty. I glance down the bar and see my sister giggling with her bartender, both of them looking my way. Dean must have passed by them when he was working with the other customers and overheard Emma say my name.
“My sisters call me James, yes. But you can call me Fitz.”
Dean glances at my drink, then down the bar. The bartender’s smirking in his direction, looking pretty satisfied about something. Maybe even a little smug. Dean rolls his eyes at her, then turns back to me.
“Look, Fitz. I’m going to be blunt. You are pretty much the hottest man to ever walk into my bar. You’re like one of those memes for a hot guy walking into a bar and all the ladies tossing their knickers at him.”
“I don’t want their panties.”
“Yes, I’m clear on that,” he says with a laugh. “But the thing is—I can’t go home with you. I don’t sleep with the customers.”
I grin. “So, you’re saying you want to sleep with me.”
“You’re relentless,” he says like he’s reining in a grin.
And he’s right. Whether it’s a man in a bar or a play on the ice, I am relentless.
And I always score.
Dean’s grin disappears as he stares at me, heat in his eyes, giving me a look that I both love and hate at the same time.
Because that look?
It promises that challenge that turned me on in the first place.
And it also promises me that nothing is happening tonight.
"The thing is – it’s a rule,” he says. “And it’s a rule I intend to follow.”
For a second, I let him think he’s won, that I’m going to walk away.
Then, in a low voice, I say, “Rules are made to be broken. Or bent,” I say just for him. “You should bend your rules for me.”
A twitch in his jaw.
He wants this as much as I do, even if he won’t admit it.
He wants this because there’s more here than insane physical attraction. There’s a spark that’ll make our physical connection out of this world. And I want what I want. Badly.
“What makes you think you should be the one I break the rule for?”
I give him nothing but the truth. “Because I’d make it worth your while.”
His eyes stay on me like he’s studying me, possibly even memorizing me. Maybe that’s wishful thinking. Or maybe it’s reality, because he leans forward, a mere foot away now, his chiseled face so damn close to mine. He lowers his voice to a sultry bedroom whisper. “Of that, Fitz, I have no doubt.”
And I am officially an inferno. A speechless, hot, bothered, and turned-on-as-hell inferno.
Dean shrugs, grins, clears his throat. “But it’s a rule I won’t be breaking tonight.”
He walks away to tend to other customers, and I watch him. I cannot look away.
Because all I can think is—Dean, your challenge is accepted.
When I leave a little later, I hand him a tip, then say, “I’ll see you . . . tomorrow night.”
He meets my gaze, his eyes locked with mine. “Is that so?”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
I walk out.
Tomorrow can’t arrive fast enough.
SATURDAY
Also known as the day I don’t expect to see him again.
Because, I swear, I’m not even thinking about him. Not at all. Not even a little bit.
Fine, maybe a little.
4
Dean
I’m waiting for my award.
Top prize in Extraordinary Feats of Resistance.
Because what I did last night? There should be an entire fleet of people arriving at the door of my flat, ready to congratulate me for resisting the sexiest man to walk into my bar, let alone enter the damn country.
Thankfully, there’s nothing in the rules forbidding getting off to a customer.
Nothing at all against thoughts of his hard body on mine. Or under mine—either image worked for me.
Trouble is, I can picture him sauntering through The Magpie’s doors tonight, flashing those bedroom eyes my way.
Will I be strong enough to resist him a second time?
I better be.
I just need to forget his humor, his swagger. Erase his easy banter.