I glanced at my purse, grabbing the iconic red lip stain I kept on hand for emergencies before I could think better of it. “It’sfine,” I murmured, running the applicator over my bottom lip. “You’re only doing this to add a bit of color to your face.”
Even the lie felt pathetic.
A group of rowdy patrons walked by my SUV, laughing as they made their way into the small bar. The parking lot of Frank’s was packed, even for a Friday night. That was the beauty—and sometimes curse—of living in such a small town. There wasn’t much else to do other than head to your local bar for a few drinks after work.
As the door opened, I got my first glimpse of him.
Duke was wiping down the bartop, laughing at something some brunette was saying. Her legs were on full display in a pair of shorts that barely covered her ass. Hair perfectly curled and styled.
I bet she was gorgeous.
Looking down, I only ended up criticizing my outfit choice. Despite trying and failing to convince myself I was going out for me and me alone, my clothes didn’t necessarily reflect that. I opted for a short, red dress that cut off mid-thigh and a pair of tall black cowboy boots I hadn’t worn in years. They made me feel sexy. Noticeable, even. But now I wanted to bang my head against the steering wheel because there was no way to make my outfit look casual.
You should turn around and head home, Olivia. Make your way back to the house before anyone sees you.
My hand hovered over the ignition, ready to turn it over when the door opened again, giving me a view of little MissLegs For Daystwirling her hair as she downed the shot Duke set in front of her.
Suddenly, I found myself stepping out of my car, slipping my purse over my shoulder, and marching into the bar like I had something to prove.
Here goes nothing.
Duke looked up the moment I walked through the door. His bright green gaze turned molten as he slowly let his eyes travel down the length of my body and back up. The girl was still talking, laughing shrilly and twirling her hair just to earn a scrap of his attention.
I didn’t blame her. I’d been strategic in my approach for his attention just like she was. But the key difference was knowing I had a horse in this race, while she wasn’t even competing.
Straightening my shoulders, I marched over to the opposite side of the bar where a young man was pouring a round of shots. It was impossible to ignore the weight of Duke’s gaze, but I tried not to think about it too much as I slid onto an empty stool.
The young barback looked up, offering me a kind smile. “What can I get ya?” he asked.
“A shot of tequila, and,” I took a quick survey of the beers on tap, “a Banquet, please.”
The man nodded. “Want some salt and lime with that shot?”
I said, “Yes,” the moment Duke walked up and said, “No.”
Our eyes met, warming me better than the liquor ever could. “Hi, Duke.”
“Move,” Duke grunted, forcing the kid out of the way. He gave me an apologetic smile and did as requested, switching to the side where the disgruntled brunette stood, glaring in our direction.
Duke leaned forward, bracing his hands on the bartop. While the weight of his attention made me feel uncomfortable, I didn’t balk, didn’t shift as he finally asked, “What’re you doing here, Olivia?”
I let my hands rest in front of me, hoping he didn’t catch the slight tremble in them at the sound of his voice. “Can’t a girl go out for a drink without a reason?”
His laugh was hollow. “Sure, but not you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t play dumb. It’s not a cute look.”
“What about desperate?” I asked, tilting my head toward the other side of the bar. I felt horrible speaking about another woman like that, but his comment had me aching to dig at him the way he’d just done to me. “You seemed to like that look very much. Tell me, what color were her eyes?”
“Couldn’t tell you.”
I clicked my tongue. “Ah, because you were too busy looking elsewhere, perhaps?”
“Because I couldn’t give a shit about her eyes or her tits or her smile,” he said, leaning forward. “And I think you know that.”
I wished I could forget, honestly. Maybe then I wouldn’t be sitting in a bar, in a short dress, no less, in fucking March.