Page 4 of My Best Friend's Dad

Up close, I notice a few small lines around his eyes and mouth. He might be older than I thought, but that only increases his hotness and my corresponding goosebumps. Either he covers up his silver fox hair, or he hasn’t gone that grey yet, but I’d peg him as being in his late thirties. Everything about him screamsexperienced,notold,and he’s far more alluring for it.

My pulse crashes at my neck and wrists. My thighs clench together under my coat, and my oyster only gets…moister.

Wow. Just. Wow.Thanks for that, brain.

You’re welcome, Bellatrix.

I clear my throat when the hair on the back of my neck stands up. I’m a stranger to insta-attraction. I usually need to get to know someone before I imagine them doing filthy things to me, but two seconds in this guy’s magical presence, and my clam is set to jam.

You can stop with the sea references anytime, brain. Thanks.

You’re welcome, Bellatrix.

No, I don’t usually have conversations with myself. Tonight is a one-off in many ways.

I mean to ask for a vodka cranberry, but my tongue has a mind of its own. “Do you have whisky?” He does. His eyes are the perfect shade of light brown, the lighting in here working a spell to produce pure amber.

What a stupid, wretched question. My eyes sweep above his shoulder, where there are at least twelve different kinds of whisky on display.

“Uh, I’d like one. Please. A double.”

His lips, which are just the right shape and surprisingly pink for a man—even more surprising is that I don’t hate that at all—twitch. “You ever had whisky before?”

Am I that obvious? My cheeks get hot, then double down on the internal burning fires of humiliation as I recall yet again what a wreck I must look like. “Sure. A long time ago.”

His sinful mouth makes another twitch, but his eyes don’t leave my face. He’s a bad boy, muscled, probably tattooed in places I can’t see, swoony late night between the sheets, zaddy fantasy all wrapped into one.

Not that I’ve had any of those fantasies until right this moment. And what do you know, I’m fantasizinghard. As in his hard—whoa.I might be telling my brain to slow the shit down, but here I am, still rubbing my thighs together.

“Are you staying at the hotel tonight?”

I have no idea what that has to do with anything, but it sounds dirty when he says it. His face doesn’t change, but somehow, it’s still filthy. Why do I want the answer to that question to be yes, with a distinct invitation behind it?

I suck in a breath to stabilize my thoughts and get my shit under control, and I get a whole lot of leather, booze, and citrusy cologne. I’m not sure if he’s responsible for all three or just the latter.

“N-no,” I stammer. Why won’t he just get me the drink? Does he torture all his customers with his aloof hotness?

“Are you driving?” he asks.

I shake my head, annoyance creeping in. “Nope.” I tap my fingers on the bar top. “That’s kind of why I’m here. My car broke down, and I need to get a tow. I saw the lounge and thought it’s been the kind of day that could use a drink. Not that I’m normally a drinker. I can’t remember the last time I even had so much as a beer. Sips of wine, sure. Sometimes. Not that often.Err…and it’s not like I think alcohol will fix problems. It just…I’mthirsty.”

His eyes suddenly flash and twinkle, accompanied by the most devastating smile. It’s like staring straight into the face of a sun god. “In that case, are you sure you still want the whisky? How about something you’ll enjoy?”

I’d enjoy a nice tall glass of you. It’s that kind of thirst.

“What do you suggest?” I cough out.

His eyes seem to bore right through my skull. “On second thought, let’s go with the whisky. I have something I think you’ll like. It’s called a Whisky Mule. Whisky, lime, ginger beer, and honey. Sound good?”

“I…is it something you like?”

He produces two glasses and flips them over in his massive, capable hands. I nearly fall straight off the barstool. He winks at me, and I’mfinished. Slayed. Game over.

He makes an art form out of pouring and mixing the drinks.

If I weren’t ovulating at the start of the night, I’m pretty sure I am now.

The first sip is spicy and sweet, with a little bit of a sour bite. It’s…it’s the best freaking thing I’ve ever tasted. You know, since he’s not on the menu.