Page 4 of Fair Trade

I make eye contact with the bartender as I say, “Put his fruity drink on my tab.” She grins in my direction and nods before sending him a dry look.

Slack-jawed, he stares at me. The turn of events might be too much for his peanut brain, because he hasn’t moved a muscle. I roll my eyes—ah, that feels good—and straighten in my stool as I face the bar. He shakes his head, probably trying to bounce his two brain cells together to form a sentence, but I’m over this interaction.

Good thing I always leave my vibrator charged.

I lift the tasty tequila to my lips as I lock eyes with him for what I hope will be the last time ever. “Hey, Tucker?”

“Ah, um, yeah?” He blinks.

“Get fucked.” I nod my head toward the exit and take another sip, keeping all my focus on my drink while ignoring the low mutters of “sorry” and “but you didn’t need to be such a bitch.”

Again, nothing I haven’t heard before.

The bartender—Jess, according to her name tag—stops in front of me and laughs. “Damn, that was satisfying to watch. Can you stay for the rest of my shift and do that a few more times, please?” she pleads, batting her eyelashes.

I tilt my head from side to side. “Tempting, but it’s probably not a good idea to loiter at a hotel bar.” I wiggle the glass in my hand. “A few more of these, and I might turn this fine establishment into a titty bar.”

A choking cough breaks out at the other side of the bar. We both look at the man who was most likely eavesdropping on us and didn’t see my boob joke coming.

Whoops.

When he lifts his gaze and gives us a soft “My apologies,” I almost forget to breathe.

Jesucristo.

That man is the embodiment of sex on a stick without the weird porno vibes. And did I detect an accent? Because accents make you 15 percent hotter. I don’t make the rules.Actually, yes. I just did.

Short, black hair, upkept by a neat fade. With an expertly trimmed, barely there beard framing his chiseled face. His glass of amber liquid seems five sizes too small in his large hands. Decadent brown skin that seems kissed by the Caribbean sun shining over my loved ones in the Dominican Republic or a nearby island.

He must be older than me, but I’m guessing not by much.

Muscles pushing his well-tailored suit to its limits.

And even though he’s sitting, there is no question this man is well over six feet. Something a woman like me can appreciate, since I’m five nine and apparently a giant compared to all the petite women in my family.

I shake my head, reminding myself that I am officially off this ludicrous merry-go-round of entertaining cocky men for the night, and tear my gaze away from the man I’m sure is the star of many wet dreams.

Maybe he’s an actor or something?

“Jess, I’m going to call it a night. Can I get the bill when you get a minute?” I ask as I try to keep my eyes from veering back to the gorgeous stranger.

Jess smirks while taking an innocent tone. “It would bring me no greater pleasure than to comp your drinks for the night, but unfortunately, your tab has already been taken care of.”

I raise a confused brow, and she nods at our sexy eavesdropper.

I inwardly groan as I scold my rising libido.

No. We do not need to accept free drinks from sexy strangers,I quickly remind myself.

I begrudgingly look in his direction, for the essential reason of letting him know that I can pay for my own drinks, only to find his amused gaze already on me.

I open my mouth to speak, but he lifts his hand and beats me to it.

“You don’t have to show me your tits,” he says with a straight face.

I’m momentarily stunned into silence.

What in the ever-loving fuck? “Excuse me?” I ask incredulously.