Page 5 of My Best Friend's Dad

“Mmm,” I moan before I can stop myself. My face gets hot. And hotter. It’s already a thousand degrees.

“Good?”

He sips his drink nice and slow, watching me over the rim of the glass. His tongue sweeps out along his lower lip. It’s like he’s purposely putting on a sex show for me in a parallel dimension where we’re the only two people alive. In that case, we’d have an obligation to repopulate the world with lots of hot, kinky sex.

“Do you always drink with your customers?”

“Hardly ever.” He takes another long, slow sip. “But it just so happens, I’mparchedtoo.”

Excuse me,WHAT? Was that just a come-on? It’s been so long since I’ve tried flirting that I’ve forgotten what it feels like. And getting hit on? Forget it. I’m pretty sure, judging from how seldom it happens, that I’m no one’s type. All my relationships started out as friends first or friend-of-a-friend type deals that turned into what felt like mercy dating.

Chalk that up to the whole five foot eleven inches thing.

Tall women who are not me are hot.

I’m just all-around awkward.

Add to that the curly hair, freckles, glasses, and my natural shyness, and maybe it’s clear why most men aren’t attracted. Mika is kind and likes to say I’m intimidating, so beautiful that most guys can’t even work up the nerve to speak to me. All the emphasis should be on the wordkind.

“Were you…listening to metal music?” I croak, a dying frog to the last.

“I don’t know. Was I?”

How am I supposed to answer that? I wish he would stop staring at me with his killer hotness while sipping on that drink like he can read my mind and wants to take the starring role in my filthiest, wildest dreams.

It’s a relief when his eyes tear away from my face, but then he leans up on the bar, holding his drink casually, his face only a few inches from mine. I’m so startled that I can’t even pull back. I’m frozen, essentially breathing the same air as him, my nipples for sure hard enough to shred through my trench coat. I’m probably soaking through the darned lace panties I have on, andthatwould be a travesty of embarrassment I would not recover from.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

“Do you play?”

Play what? Oh my god, play what?

My brain finally slams into something other than panic mode. I follow his line of sight over my shoulder, directly to the piano.

Oh.Oh.

“I do. Since I was three.”

His smile lights up the whole room, and my nipples respond by going on a full slasher rampage.

“It’s yours if you want it.”

I burst out laughing. “Oh my god. What a thing to say. I can barely look at it for fear that something will happen to it.”

“Give me your address. I’ll have it delivered tomorrow.”

How many drinks has this guy had? Has he been in here, just sipping away by himself? I give him another scan, trailing my eyes down his impressive body. He doesn’t look drunk. Maybe he holds his alcohol well.

“It’s cruel to tease someone like that. Not that you were serious, but I’ll have to decline. It’s the size of my condo, and it’s so heavy that it would probably go through the floor.” It feels painfully good to be playful. Maybe that’s what he was going for. Some light teasing because I must look like I’ve had the worst day known to mankind. I gave him a hint when I told him my car needed a tow, but looking like a trash panda with my makeup all over my face is pretty much a dead giveaway.

Right. That would also be why he’d stared at me.

Duh.

It’s hard to look away from a trainwreck.

That realization goes a long way to cool down my overheated skin and simmering ovaries, but it’s also like a stone or irrational disappointment sinking in the pit of my stomach.