Page 3 of Falling for the Bad Boy

"Trinity." She took my hand, her small hand feeling so delicate in my own.

"Nice to meet you. I hope your day gets better from here."

"Me too. Based on the way things have been going, it can't get much worse."

"Hey, at least finish your drink." I pointed to her glass sitting on the bar. "It's bad luck not to."

"Really? Says who?"

"My dad." I shook my head, smiling. "He's full of superstitions like that."

"Well I can't afford any bad luck." She slid back onto her stool. For some reason, my chest expanded knowing she’d be sticking around for just a little bit longer.

I set the overturned stool upright then returned to my post behind the bar. "You want to talk about it?"

"What? My run of bad luck?"

"Yeah. Bartenders make the best listeners."

She let out a laugh. "Is that what you tell all of your prospects?"

"Prospects?" I put my hands over my chest, faking a fatal chest wound. "Is that what you think I'm doing here, prospecting?"

"Your options appear fairly limited tonight." Her gaze drifted around the room. Besides the trio of vodka-cranberries giggling at the far end of the bar, the only other women there appeared to be with their significant others.

"I'm offended." Honestly, I was the exact opposite. Nothing got my blood pumping like some good back-and-forth banter.

"I know guys like you."

I cocked a brow. "Then please, enlighten me. What are my prospecting plans?"

She set her glass down and leaned forward. "You're like a wolf in sheep's clothing. First you infiltrate, mixing in, trying to be nonchalant and appear non-threatening."

"A wolf, okay. Go on." I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back against the bar.

"Then you separate the stray lamb from the flock."

I lifted my brows. "Oooh, this is getting good. And then?"

She shrugged. "Then you go in for the kill."

"You're not suggesting I actually murder the lamb, are you?" I tilted my head, getting a better look at her.

"No, it's all a metaphor. You're the wolf."

"And that makes you the sheep?" My mouth twisted into a smirk. She was cheeky, this one.

"A lamb. Just forget it. It's a stupid analogy." She whirled around on the stool, putting her back to me.

I was about to volley back, but I caught sight of the landlord making his way through the crowd to the bar.

Trinity got up off her stool and thrust her hand at the older man. "Mr. Hopkins, I was beginning to think you wouldn't make it."

"Sorry, Ms. Ryan. I was running behind. I would have called but I can't figure out how to work the darn phone thing in my car."

"That's okay. Oliver here was entertaining me with stories of wolves."

"Oh good, I see you've met then." Mr. Hopkins put a hand on Trinity's back, propelling her a few steps toward the bar. "Mr. Martin, meet Trinity Ryan, your new landlord."