Mismatch - By Nana Malone Page 0,8
repressed. Except for his hair. Touching his collar and curling at the ends, it was the only non-conservative part about him. She preferred tattooed, too-skinny guitarist types. She was willing to bet Poindexter didn’t have a tat anywhere.
All her misgivings aside, she couldn't tear her gaze from his as she pushed her way toward the bar. He looked like an accountant. No, strike that, too polished. Like a Wall Street type, except he didn't have the air of smarm. Maybe it was his too-direct gaze. There was nothing hidden in his eyes. Just interest and lust. And it made the hairs on her arms stand up. God, what was he doing staring at her? The uptight type generally preferred too-thin models with no hips. Oh, and normal. They veered away from alternative types.
As Jessica pushed through the crowd, his gaze followed as if he were silently drawing her to him, willing her to come to him. The way he insolently leaned against the bar made him even more appealing. When he said something to the bartender, she glanced at his companion. Also handsome, darker, more olive-toned skin, bulkier, too.
The green-eyed devil had the build of someone who worked out for the pure purpose of staying in shape, not to bulk up.
Jessica dragged in a breath to calm her racing heartbeat. She wasn't here for this. She was here for Samson Marks. Unfortunately, so was every other woman in the room. Some men, too. With everyone who wanted to talk to him, she’d already been waiting forty-five minutes, and she wasn’t interested in waiting any longer. She’d just leave her card with Gabe and try and track him down if he didn't call by Monday. She wasn’t letting this guy get away from her. If he could whip her into a sexual frenzy, he had something special.
When she momentarily lost sight of Poindexter, Jessica felt more like herself and less like a throbbing, heaving-bosomed mess. What the hell was wrong with her?
She finally made it to the end of the bar and made eye contact with the bartender. Over by the other end, she caught sight of her mystery man. She might be here to work, but what would it hurt to play a little? It had been a while. Okay, longer than a while considering the last two guys she'd dated she hadn’t even bothered sleeping with.
“What can I get you?”
“Are you Gabe?”
He grinned. “You want to bid on the piece sight unseen?”
She grinned back. “Nope.”
He frowned. “You here to tell me I got a kid out there or something? 'Cause I’m not particularly interested in hearing that.”
“That happen to you a lot?”
“You’d be surprised.”
She laughed. “Tonight’s your lucky night. I'm not here for that either. I need to get a message to Samson Marks.”
Gabe raised his eyebrows and nodded as if this wasn’t the first request of this type he'd had tonight. “Yeah, what’s the message?”
She handed over her card with a note scrawled on the back. “I'm a manager. Tell him to call me.” She shrugged and glanced at Poindexter again. “You can tell him he's safe from me. I have something else entirely planned for tonight.”
Moving away from the end of the bar, Jessica spotted the guy in the suit again and made her approach. “So are you going to stare all night, or were you ever going to come and talk to me?”
His lips twitched as he met her gaze. “Excuse me?”
Jessica raised a brow. “'Cause I gotta tell you, if you weren't so good looking, it would be borderline creepy.”
Poindexter barked a laugh. “Only borderline creepy?”
She shrugged as her eyes met his. “This is L.A. after all. There’s a whole different definition of creepy.”
A small smile tugged at his lips. “Do you always say what's on your mind?”
“I know it's a little odd for L.A., right? But I find it cuts through the bullshit.” She looked around. “Is that your friend?” She nodded in Mr. Italian Stallion wannabe’s direction. His bulky build and darker skin, combined with the gel he wore in his hair gave him a Jersey Shore effect.
The beefy guy grinned and his face transformed, making him look like a schoolboy with his first crush.
“I’m his only friend.”
“Well hello, friend.”
Friend smiled at her and said, “Hello, gorgeous. You going to cheer my friend up here? He’s in a bit of a mood.”
This was fun. Go figure. Since Ryan’s call, she’d been in freak out mode. This felt easy and natural. “Now why are