Page 89 of Bred

Iadjustedmypositionon the stool and sipped my champagne. It was only my second glass, but I was already starting to feel the buzz. Another couple of these and I'd be wasted.

It had already been a long week and it was only Tuesday.

"What are we celebrating?" a smooth voice asked. The speaker slipped into the empty stool beside me.

He was tall, at least a head taller than me. His dark brown hair was longer on the top than it was on the sides. Smiling blue eyes looked directly into mine.

I got the impression he did that a lot. Smiling, I mean. He looked like the kind of guy who was at ease anywhere. The kind of guy who usually didn't notice girls like me.

He wore a dark grey, tailored suit that looked expensive and fit him perfectly. His tie had cartoon characters on it, contrasting directly with the seriousness of his suit.

"Who says we're celebrating?" I took a bigger sip than I intended.

His eyes darted down to where the hem of my dress rode halfway up my thigh. I could have tugged it down, but I liked the way he seemed appreciative. I wasn't used to guys looking at me that way. Or at all. I was the kind of woman who never held their gaze and was forgotten two seconds later. At least, that was how it felt.

His eyes returned to my face. "No judgement, but you're dressed up and drinking champagne, and it's Tuesday." He turned to the bar attendant and ordered a bourbon and cola. "Either you're celebrating or commiserating."

After a moment he added, "Or you like to get dressed up and drink champagne on a Tuesday." He nodded his thanks to the attendant who placed his drink in front of him.

"Right." That covered all the possibilities I could think of. I sighed and let one of my feet dangle, the heel of my shoe almost touching the floor.

"Bad breakup," I said finally. "We were supposed to go out to dinner tonight, but he had other plans." I shrugged as though I wasn't burning up inside.

He winced. "Ouch." He held out his hand. "I'm Lucas. I'm starting to think I'm intruding on your evening. You can tell me to fuck off if you want." He put a hand on the bar as if to push himself to his feet and leave.

"No," I said quickly. "It's okay. You're not intruding." He might be the distraction I needed. "I'm Amity." When he offered his hand again, I shook it. Both of us hung on longer than we should have. After a few long moments, our hands slipped away from each other.

"Well, Amity, can I buy you a refill?" he offered.

I looked down into my glass to find it empty. When did that happen?

"I really shouldn't." I placed my glass down on the bar. "Drowning my sorrows seems like a really good idea until the next day." Everything was fucked up enough without having a hangover.

"You know what you need?" He swallowed down the last of his drink and placed his empty glass beside mine. He hopped down from his stool and offered me his hand. "Come with me. I know just the thing to take your mind off… Can I call him an asshole?"

"Go ahead," I said. I looked at Lucas' hand and thought for a moment. Did I really want to go off with a complete stranger and do fuck knows what? Sure, he was a hot stranger and I was immediately drawn to him, but so were moths to flame.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he assured me. "Unless that's your thing, in which case all you need to do is tell me how hard." He grinned, showing a dimple in his left cheek.

Shit, he was dangerously cute. A girl could get herself into real trouble with him.

I slipped my hand into his and clicked across the hard floor to the door.

We stepped out into the sultry Sydney evening. The air was so humid it felt like sweat and sin. In this part of the city, there was plenty of both.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"You'll see." He gave me a sidelong, cagey look. "Trust me."

"Said every serial killer ever," I said. I eyed him doubtfully, but he didn't look like a serial killer. Then again, most of them didn't.

He laughed softly, an unexpectedly deep, gravelly sound. It sent a bolt of white hot heat straight to my core. I don't know what was more intoxicating, the champagne or him.

"I leave that sort of shit to my brothers," he said.

I wasn't sure if he was joking or not. Given the dubious stuff my father and older siblings were involved in, I was in no position to judge. I did my best to stay out of their crap and out of their way, but that wasn't always easy.

"What do you do?" I asked. Either he worked in an office, or he also liked to get dressed up and drink on Tuesdays.