Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
I considered her words. Whitney had known me since freshman year in high school, and she had a knack for cutting straight to the heart of things in a way only a best friend could. Maybe she was right. It was hard to admit that I had a bad habit of overthinking when I looked for romantic partners. I had to wonder if I’d passed up opportunities for a genuine connection because I was too hung up on looking for a man that ticked all my boxes right away. Maybe I was missing out on what could be something special because I was too wary of trusting a man and his true intentions.
“I’ll think about it,” I finally said, because I didn’t know what else to say.
She smiled, bumping her shoulder against mine. “That’s all I wanted to hear and I don’t mean to give you a hard time. I just want you to be happy. I know you’ve always hoped to find true love, and I want to see that happen for you.”
Something in my chest softened and I smiled back at her. “I appreciate that, and you. Really.”
Just then, Becca returned to the table with a waitress following her, who was holding a tray of Fireball shots and one glass of what looked like a soda for Becca. My sister-in-law looked flustered, her cheeks red and her shoulders slumped. Something was wrong.
“Hey, what’s going on?” I asked Becca as the waitress set the drinks on the table.
Becca bit her bottom lip and pulled me aside so that we were out of earshot of the others. “It’s so embarrassing. My card was declined when I tried to close out the tab. I have no idea why. I need to call Parker. You know he handles all our finances. Maybe something’s up with the account.”
I nodded, trying to reassure her. Parker, my stepbrother, was a computer genius with a knack for numbers. He managed their bills and investments and kept their household running smoothly. If there was an issue, he’d figure it out.
“I’m sure it’s just a mistake,” I said gently. “Do you want me to pay the bill for now?”
Her eyes widened and she quickly shook her head. “No way,” she said, looking even more embarrassed. “I don’t want you to pay the bill on your birthday. This was going to be my treat.”
“I know,” I said, placing a hand on her arm. “But really, Becca, it’s not a big deal. If you’re that worried about it, you can pay me back later, okay?”
She hesitated, pride clearly warring with practicality before she sighed. “Okay, fine. But I will pay you back.”
We returned to the table long enough to take our shots. Whitney lifted hers, eyes sparkling. “To Morgan!”
“To Morgan!” everyone echoed, their voices overlapping in laughter.
The Fireball’s cinnamon burn slid down my throat, warm and sweet, chasing away the last traces of work stress and old heartbreak. “I’ll be right back.” I set my empty glass down and grabbed my purse.
I headed to the bar to settle the bill, weaving through the crowd. The DJ had just taken a break, so people from the dance floor were gathering around, trying to grab fresh drinks before the music started again.
I slid into an open space at the end of the bar, sandwiched between a couple who couldn’t keep their hands off each other and a man who looked overdressed for a random bar. His tuxedo jacket hung on the back of his bar stool. His crisp white shirt was open at the throat, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and his black tie hung loose around his neck. His dark brown hair was thick and styled back off his forehead, and the faintest shadow of stubble darkened his jaw.
He was sexy as hell and looked like trouble in the best possible way. And when his eyes flicked toward me, skimming me from head to toe, it felt like a physical touch. My skin tingled everywhere his intense gaze lingered.
“Can I help you?” the bartender asked, jolting me out of my daze.
I pulled my eyes away from the gorgeous, formally dressed man. “Uh, yes. My friend just tried to pay our tab and had a little trouble—”
“I took care of that,” a smooth, deep, masculine voice said from beside me.
I turned back to Mr. Tuxedo in surprise. “What?”
“I paid the woman’s tab,” he said easily. “She looked upset, so I told the bartender to put it on my card.”
The bartender gave a quick nod of confirmation. “Your bill is paid in full,” he said, before moving down the bar to take a drink order.
“Oh.” I blinked at the man, shocked by his random generosity. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
He gave a slight shrug, the movement drawing my attention to the strong line of his shoulders. “It’s not a big deal.”