Page 22 of Center of Gravity
“Huh.”
“Invite him over,” Tom suggested.
“Nah. Guy’s out to enjoy his beer. I’m not going to interrupt him.” Or maybe he was cruising, and I wasn’t going to interrupt that, either.
And I meant that, except…another beer later, I decided I should at least say hi. I mean that was the polite thing to do, right?
So I picked up my beer and weaved through the scent of perfume and deodorant working overtime. A lot of prowling, slinking, and apologetic smiles later, I’d worked my way into a small wedge of space between Rob’s stool and the one occupied by a beefy jock next to him.
He didn’t seem to see me at first, the mouth of his beer resting on his lower lip mid-sip as he watched whatever excitement was happening on screen.
“So I can add baseball to the list,” I said. So smooth.
Rob registered me with a flustered widening of his eyes. “The list?” One brow winged up. I’d never seen him do it before, but it was crushingly cute.
“In addition to running and your not-favorite-book,Pride and Prejudice.”
“Ahh, right.” He gave a little laugh that was low and limber, maybe a product of the beer and its empty mate still sitting in front of him. “It’s more along the lines of something to stare at that’s not a bouncing group of girls or a bro-fisting horde of jocks.”
“Not your scene, huh?”
“Maybe ten years ago. But at least the beer’s cold. I don’t plan on staying long.”
“You’re more into club chairs and fancy mixed drinks and people who call you sir?”
“I’d take club chairs and air conditioning right now. I can live forever without the sir.”
“You’d need to go about five miles west of here. Boca’s. I told you about it.”
“I’ll remember that. So is this your scene?” His eyes landed on me and it felt like an additional layer of heat slathering my body.
“I’m not particular,” I admitted.
“I’ve gathered.”
“What does that mean?”
Rob’s gaze was more assessing this time. Then he lifted one shoulder. “You just come off as somewhat freewheeling.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you implying I’m a slut?”
He inclined his chin at me, a little smile playing at the corners of his lips. It was irritatingly charming. “No. I’m implying that I think you’re a bit of a flirt.”
“So now you’re slut shaming me. Do I need to point out the hypocrisy again?”
I caught my lip ring with my teeth and that dark flash I’d seen earlier passed through his eyes again. He averted his gaze, focusing on his beer and flicking at droplets of condensation.
“I’m not going to deny I’m a flirt.” I was prepared to defend a perfectly harmless and enjoyable pastime, but just then someone’s elbow slammed into my side. I swerved away from the blunt impact and lost my grip on my beer.
It careened to one side and then toppled onto the counter, spilling everywhere at the same time my shoulder slammed into Rob’s. He had quick reflexes, though, one hand steadying his own beer and the other dropping low against my back just as mine clamped down on his thigh to keep me from going the way of my beer. The muscles beneath my hand were solid and tensed. His fingers spread across the dip in my back and it was electrifying, even if he was distracted, shooting a glare over his shoulder at the culprit.
When the voltage of his touch stopped zinging me into dizziness, I whirled to look, too. A girl with a tight ponytail and wide eyes flapped her hands dramatically. “I’m so sorry!” she mouthed as a hand grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back into the overspill from the dancefloor.
I released Rob’s thigh, picked up a few napkins and mopped at the bar. Rob’s hand retreated, though I wished it wouldn’t have.
“That was overkill.”
It took me a second to realize he was teasing me about being a flirt.