His Forever Girl (New Orleans' Ladies #4) - Liz Talley Page 0,1
place for a casual joint like Pete’s.
Tess snuck a peek at her middle-of-the-week jean leggings and long-sleeved sweater. Although the sweater had a pinprick dot of bleach on the hem, the bright green made her eyes look deeper. And she’d worn her UGG boots so she didn’t look totally sloppy.
Jeez. Why was she taking stock of herself? Because a good-looking dude walked in? Or maybe it was because Granny B had pointed out she needed to do something with her hair and wear more flattering shoes.
She glanced at the table of women who looked like bank tellers. Every woman stared at the guy too. One woman tucked a curl behind her ear, and another wiped the mascara shadow from under her eyes.
Even Ron sucked in his gut.
The stranger nodded at the bartender, who in turn gave him a quite charming smile. The man slid onto a stool three down from Tess as Ron flew toward him like a magnet toward a metal pole.
“Hello, there,” Ron said, showing his dimples.
Good Lord.
“Hey,” the man said, reaching into the open coat for what she presumed was a wallet. “I’ll take a J.B. and Coke, easy on the ice.”
Ron lifted an eyebrow. “J.B., huh? My kind of man.”
Tess snorted. She couldn’t help it. She hadn’t seen that kind of bad flirting since Gigi got drunk and tried a top-ten list of bad pickup lines on every man at the Columns on Valentine’s Day. Okay, that was only a month ago, but still Ron not only took the cake… he’d already licked the spoon. Typical Ron.
“Hush,” her friend said, slinging an arm her way, but not daring to take his eyes off tall, dark and hewn-from-granite.
Tess rolled her eyes.
The man looked over at her as if in on the joke.
Oh, holy hell. She didn’t blame Ron. She’d pull out dimples, too… if she had any to use.
“Ron’s a consummate flirt,” she said, jabbing a finger at her bartender bud. “You’ll fall for him if you stand too close.”
“Oh, please. You stand closer than anyone, mon amie. You love my flirting.” Ron grabbed a bottle of the amber liquid from the back shelf and held a glass to the light.
The stranger chuckled and the sound tickled Tess’s stomach.
Whoa, girl.
“True,” she said, pulling her own drink toward her. Ron made her gin gimlet just as she liked it—simple syrup, muddled cucumber, tarragon and Hendrick’s. Delish. “When it comes to flirting, you’re the don.”
“Ron the Don? Sounds like a wrestler.” The stranger quirked an eyebrow. He turned toward her allowing his gaze to travel lightly over her. A shiver ran through her. Dear Bessie, he had the prettiest blue eyes that would exactly match the bathroom rug her Granny B had spent eons searching for. Good humor twinkled in the periwinkle depths, and Tess felt more than the warmth of the gin in her girl parts.
Dang, he looked good enough to sop up a biscuit, and Tess didn’t even eat biscuits. Carbs were the enemy, after all, but this man made her want to change her mind.
“What brings you to Pete’s? We don’t get much tourist traffic,” Ron asked, pouring a generous amount of whiskey into the tumbler then topping it with soda.
“Job interview. Someone at the company mentioned this place when I said I wanted a local pub.” The man pulled the drink to him, sipped and nodded in satisfaction.
“Really?” Ron said, swiping at the bar with a towel and sliding a surprised look at Tess, keeping her in the conversation. “Good to know we’re getting recommendations around here.”
The stranger made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded like an agreement, and Tess sipped her drink, trying not to out-and-out stare at the hotness mere feet from her. She had to be ovulating because her hormones had shifted into overdrive and clamored for her to put on some lipstick and slide closer.
She ignored her hormones because they made bad decisions. In fact, last time they’d led her to a strange bed, overly polite note, and a cold cup of coffee the morning after.
Tess had stopped letting her girl parts dictate her love life.
The man glanced at the TV that was broadcasting something with racing dirt bikes. “Any way I can talk you into turning to the Rangers game? Wanna check the score.”
Ron looked like someone had farted. “Hockey?”
“Nah, baseball. Preseason.”
Despite her declaration to keep her distance, Tess slid onto the next stool. “Feliz is pitching. They’re checking out his arm after rehab.” The man