Chapter Two
For a moment, Gen wondered if he heard her. He continued to drink his whiskey with slow deliberate sips broken only by the occasional drag of his cigarette.
“Look,” Gen continued on. “You don’t have to take me home. Just walk out of the bar with me. It’s not like I have to record our session or…”
“Then how do you expect them to believe you?”
Gen crossed her arms. “They’ll take my word for it.”
He snorted again. “Doubtful. Like I said, you’re a lousy poker player.”
“Fine then, tell me your favorite move to get girls into bed and I’ll tell them that.”
“Those are trade secrets.”
“How about you give me your boxers?”
“I like these boxers.”
“Okay,” Gen drawled out as she tapped her nails against the bar again, thinking. “Give me your phone number and if they feel they need to call and check, you can cover for me.”
“What if they ask about my performance?”
She had a witty remark on her tongue when he finally made eye contact with her. Every train of thought suddenly jumped the tracks. There were midair collisions, tangled heaps of railroad ties splintered and snapped while her thoughts plummeted to the water below. His golden hazel eyes held flecks of as many colors as emotions weighing his lids over them. The whites of his eyes were red and a sheen seemed to gloss them over. She was struck by the melancholic beauty of them. He raised a thick dark brow at her along with the slight tilt of his mouth on the same side.
“I…” her mind finally kicked back into gear. “I’ll keep it generic, don’t worry.”
“Generic? So little faith in a perfect stranger?” he asked, his voice like molten honey with that slight Italian accent.
“I’m sure you’re very…” She searched for words causing his expression to become even more amused. “Talented. I’m just hoping to save face without sacrificing my dignity.”
“I can assure you a night with me wouldn’t damage your dignity. In fact, it would drive your friends over there wild with envy.”
Gen crossed her arms. “Aren’t I supposed to be picking you up?”
He bobbed his head from side to side. “I suppose you are. Would you rather I play hard to get?”
“It would make this a challenge.”
“So you prefer the chase?”
“It’s far more exciting.”
“Can’t argue with that. If I hadn’t had such a shitty day, I probably would have spent the entire night trying to take you home… bet or not.”
“Flattery, huh?”
“I think honesty is the best policy.”
“In that case, you should know,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. She moved closer, running her fingers up the buttons of his white dress shirt and brushing her chest against his arm so she could whisper in his ear, “I don’t like to lose, especially to trampy blondes who think I can be thwarted by a man sitting alone brooding at a bar… No matter how sinfully hot he is.”
Mystery Man’s muscles bunched beneath his dress pants and his eyes watched her fingers drift back down his shirt to land on the bar. Gen took the cigarette from his fingers, took a pull and then stubbed it out in the ash tray before sitting back down. The man looked back to the void he’d been staring at when she walked up.
“You don’t know who I am, do you?”
Gen tried to figure it out. She didn’t watch much tv. He certainly wasn’t a member of any bands she listened to. Truthfully though, he didn’t give off an actor or musician vibe. Maybe a politician? He certainly commanded a room, even when sitting at a bar drinking his obvious pain away.
“No idea, sorry,” she said with a light shrug of her shoulder.
His eyes followed the movement and tracked the thin strap that fell down her arm with the gesture. He reached out with a finger and hooked it under the strap. Gen gasped slightly at the heat of his finger on her bare skin. His eyes flicked up, seemingly a darker brown than before. When he didn’t see fear but rather curiosity, his gaze dipped back down and he slid the strap slowly back into place. He faced forward again. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb.
“What if I’m not okay with just walking you out the door?” he asked.
“I…”
“What if I want to do something extremely out of character and take you home with me?” he asked, shifting his hazel brown eyes back to analyze her reaction. “Not for a bet, but for my own, incredibly selfish reasons?”
She blamed the alcohol again for making her body flush with heat at his suggestive gaze. She never considered herself to be the type of girl to go home with a perfect stranger. Yet as his ever changing eyes perused her face while he waited for an answer, she realized maybe, for this one guy, she could be that girl.
She studied his hands, wondering what they would feel like along her bare thigh. Her eyes ran over the thick bands of his arms and the refined shape of his back hidden beneath the finely-pressed shirt he wore. Did he have a chiseled stomach? Would he be gentle or take her roughly because this would only be a meaningless fling? She shook her head. She hadn’t had that much to drink.
“What are you proposing? ‘Cause I hold myself a notch above being willing to fuck someone over a bet,” Gen hissed.
He guffawed. “I never said anything about fucking, Woman.”
“Then… What are you saying?”
He sighed deeply and it was as if the sound carried the very depths of depression and exhaustion itself. She fisted her hands to keep from stroking his back in reassurance.
“I have a hard time sleeping. Always have. Pills don’t do it. Alcohol is a joke. The only thing I’ve found to work is…”
“Sex?”
He chuckled and she swore a light blush coated his cheeks. “Companionship.”
“Companionship,” she repeated doubtfully.
He looked around the room as if ensuring no one was close enough to hear what he said next. “It helps to have someone next to me.” He took a deep swig of his drink before muttering something to himself about how stupid he was to actually say that out loud.
Her mind raced with possibilities and suddenly none of this seemed worth it. She was too drunk, he was too grief-stricken. This could only end badly. “Forget it. Thanks anyway.”
Gen turned and took a few steps back toward the table. She crossed her arms and glared at Mallory who was making a show of removing all of her rings so she could put Gen’s on. She stopped and felt the pinch of her mother’s ring against her arm. Tears welled in her eyes. She threw her head back and cursed herself for getting in this position. She swiveled around and stalked back to the man at the bar.
“Fine,” she hissed, staring down at the dirty floor rather than meet his consuming gaze.
“You’ll go home with me?” he asked.
“Just for tonight.”
“What’s your name?”
“Bonnie,” she lied.
She heard him chuckle softly. “So we’re using fake names?”
Her eyes shot up to find him making a hand motion to one of the men stationed by the door. “It’s not fake.” He looked back at her with one brow raised in doubt. “It’s not!”
“Okay then,” he relented with the shadow of a smile playing on his lips. She was glad at least he wasn’t in the mood to unleash a full grin. If his smirk was any indication, his genuine smile would melt her to the floor. He nodded once as if deciding something of great importance and held his hand out for her. “Call me Matteo,” he said.
“Shall we, Matteo?” she asked.
A flash of something like longing passed over his heavy eyes at the sound of his name but it was gone before she could analyze it. He held his arm out for her and she wrapped her hand around his forearm. Matteo waved flirtatiously over her shoulder at the mortified group of women watching. Gen looked back and caught the unmistakable look of panic on Jada’s face. Then she noticed that every other man in the bar was preparing to leave with them. Who was this guy? As Matteo pulled her through the bar doors and into the brisk New York wind, she wondered what she might have gotten herself into.