Page 4 of Maneater

I shake my head.

“If you’re trying to make me feel bad about conning him out of two hundred bucks, you’ve got the wrong woman, babe. I don’t feel bad for a man who is clearly married and hitting on women at a bar. And I definitely don’t let random assholes like you make me feel bad about any decisions I make in my life.”

I can feel rather than see his gaze burning into me, and then I hear his laugh. It’s even better than his voice, warming me like a shot on an empty stomach. At the sound, I can’t help but turn fully to look at him. The light shifts as he also moves to look at me, and I’m reminded once again that despite his horrific attitude, the man is hot.

He has a sharp jaw that I imagine is typically well groomed butnow sports a thin layer of a five o’clock shadow, and thick, dark eyebrows that show off hazel eyes with thick lashes. His dark brown hair is longer on top and neatly combed back like always, and like always, I feel the undeniable urge to muss it up. He’s in what I assume is his daily work uniform of slacks and a button-up, the sleeves of which are rolled up to his elbows to reveal tanned, toned arms, a thin dusting of dark hair, and the very edge of a tattoo.

“You know, I think in an alternate universe, we could be friends. You with all that sass, absolutely no filter, and?—”

I cut him off before he can continue. “And you with your dry personality and clear obsession with me?”

He smiles again, and this time it’s more genuine, with all his straight white teeth and full lips.

“Yeah, something like that.” He looks me over, top to toe—or at least what he can see from where I’m sitting—and that smile goes lazy in a way I feel through my whole body. I could convince myself it’s the two glasses of champagne, but I know in my gut it’s justhim. “How about a truce?” he asks, and I raise an eyebrow.

“A truce?”

“Yeah. We play nice for the length of a drink. But next time I see you out with some man twice your age, I’ll still stop by and attempt to irritate you.”

“I thought you were stopping by to say hello to colleagues and the like?” He turns to me a bit, just enough so the lights of the dimly lit bar hit his smile, and I jolt when heat runs through me.

Oh, god, this man is dangerous. Not because he clearly is an ass or is making assumptions about me, but because that smile could be absolutely catastrophic if used correctly.

“Watching you get pissed while I’m there is a nice perk.”

“I don’t get pissed,” I say quickly.

“Then nervous, maybe?” he asks, assessing, and I don’t like it.

Still, I deflect, my lips tipping a bit with a cocky smile that is more facade than anything, and give him a slight shake of my head.

“I definitelydon’t get nervous.”

He holds my gaze for what feels like a long stretch of time, though I know it’s just seconds before he decides to let that one go.

“Clean slate,” he responds, putting out a hand to me. “Hi. Nice to meet you. I’m Rowan.”

THREE

JOSIE

I assess his outstretched hand closely. It feels like a test, a challenge, and I’m not the kind of girl to back down from one. I put my hand into his, holding firm as we shake, our eyes locked like we’re in some kind of battle as we shake.

“Josie,” I manage to say, without sounding incredibly breathy. Heat rolls through me at the sensation of his firm grip in mine, and when it’s over, I miss it. Afterward, he sits back, putting an arm on the back of my chair, and takes me in. With the move, the white button-down he’s wearing stretches over his shoulders in a way that would be concerning to the integrity of the stitches if it wasn’t clearly a high-end, expensive piece.

“So, Josie, is this your idea of a fun Wednesday night? Sitting and flirting with men to get free drinks just to see if you can? Seems a bit too easy for you, like shooting fish in a barrel with your…skills.”

I put on my most catlike smile. To others, this would be a violation of our truce, but I take it as a compliment.

“If you’re trying to make me feel bad for playing that guy, you’re out of luck. He flirted first, and he was married.”

“How do you know he was married?”

I roll my eyes but explain all the same, ticking off the reasons on my fingers.

“He couldn’t bother to take care of himself, but his suit was expensive, perfectly fitted, and the tie matched the entire ensemble perfectly. A woman picked out that outfit. He sat with his phone face down the entire time, and even when it rang, he looked at it and then placed it back face down. I’d guess his background screen is kids or his wedding picture, and I can guarantee that was his wife calling before he left. Plus, he paid in cash.”

Rowan laughs then, shaking his head, and the sound of it warms me.