“They went home.”
“And you didn’t go with them?”
“Nah.” A corner of his mouth tilted up. “The bachelor party is over and I’m a big boy. I live alone.”
“Aww. Are you getting married, sweetheart?” She cocked her head and fluttered her lashes. “How cute.”
Of course, she already knew it was a different guy. Probably the hottie who’d been at the bar when she’d sat down because blondie had given his stoplight speech when the bachelor wasn’t there. But instead of revealing her theory, she decided to act like God hadn’t given her the good sense to know left from right.
Men liked that, too.
“Not me. My best friend’s the one getting married.”
She played with her hair, wrapping a fiery curl around her finger. He watched her hands, his eyes hot and intense on her. So freaking easy. “And you didn’t want to hire him a stripper? Some best friend you are.”
“Yeah, well, he’s marrying my baby sister so he doesn’t get to see that side of me for his bachelor party.” He shifted his weight on the booth, unsettling her precarious perch on his legs. She quickly regained her balance on his lap. “No stripper or hookers or any other shit like that. Not when it involves my baby sister.”
Oh, so he had a soft spot for his little sister, huh?
That was actually kind of…cute. And she really didn’t want to associate cute with this guy. But now she knew why he’d sent her away. It hadn’t been an insult to her. He was being a protective older brother.
Her righteous anger deflated, leaving her sitting in a strange man’s lap for no reason. She grasped at straws to get the anger back. “Are you calling me a hooker now?”
His cheeks turned red. “No, of course not.” He took a drink of his beer. “About that, I’m sorry about earlier. I just saw your bra thing under your top,” he gestured to the strap of her beaded bra, “and assumed you were here because one of the guys hired you.”
“It’s fine.” She slid off his lap and stood. Her anger was gone and that left her sitting on a strange man’s lap for no reason. “Well, it’s nice meeting you and all but I’m going to call it a night.”
He canted his head. “Let me buy you one more drink? To make up for my mistake?”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I think it is.” He rose and stepped into her personal space. Man, he was hot and tall. Like, really tall. She was five-seven and he towered over her. She wanted to back off, to give herself room to breathe, but that would make her look weak. Not the image she wanted to give him. “I have to insist.”
She stared him down—even if she had to look up at him to stare him down—and he did the same to her. Seriously, this man had alpha male written all over him. And she liked it. She had come here for a date…
“Fine. One drink, Mr.…?”
His eyes lit up with satisfaction. “Mike Worth.”
“Well, Mr. Worth.” She slid into her side of the booth now that he’d emptied it. “I’ll have a whiskey sour. You go grab it and I’ll sit here and keep our seats safe. I hear there’s a jerk going around and stealing seats tonight.”
He shot her an amused look and headed off for the bar. He looked as good going as he did coming. The jeans he wore hugged his tight butt and she had a feeling he spent a lot of time in the gym. That made two of them.
As he ordered drinks, she pulled out her red lip gloss and reapplied, checking to make sure she didn’t have raccoon eyes or something else equally embarrassing. She’d awakened at five thirty for the audition, then spent all afternoon rehearsing for the Monday night show in which she was an alternate. It involved a lot of high kicks—Rockette style—and she ached from hip to toe.
He slid into the booth opposite her and handed her the drink. He’d gotten the same. “Here you go, Morgan.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
She stirred her drink with the tiny red straw all bars used, and watched him. He scanned the room, then turned the power of those baby blues on her. Although, upon closer inspection, they were more sea-green than blue. She liked the ocean color even more than blue.
Damn him and his stupid attractiveness.
Under his scrutinizing stare, she shifted her weight in the booth and blew out a soft breath. Her hair fluttered from the exhalation. “You’re staring,” she said.
“I am?” He seemed to shake himself out of a stupor. “Sorry. Didn’t mean it. But, you know, I can’t quite place your accent. Where are you from?”
She raised a brow. “Texas.”
“Ah. Texas.” He glanced under the table. “That explains the boots—which I like very much, by the way.”
She inclined her head in thanks. “Let me guess—you’re born and bred in Vegas?”
He grinned. “Yep.”
“And you’re probably a bookie or a professional gambler or something like that, aren’t you?” She pointed her drink at him. “Wait. Are you a stripper?”
He laughed. Actually laughed. Her pulse leapt at the sound.
“Sure. We’ll go with that.”
So he wasn’t any of those things. Some part of her wanted to press for more information. To find out what he really did, but what was the point? It’s not like she actually cared, right? “Okay, then.”
“So you know what I can’t figure out?” He leaned across the booth and met her gaze. She inhaled deeply and held it. The man could seduce with his eyes. “Why are you here, on a Friday night, all by yourself?”
She hesitated. Should she tell him the truth and let him know she’d been stood up, or make it sound a little less embarrassing? Shrugging, she said, “My plans fell through last minute.”
“Ah. That makes more sense than you being all by yourself.”
She toyed with her straw and bit down on the corner of her lip. He stared at her mouth and her stomach clenched. The way he looked at her right now made her think about bringing him home and…
No. Not happening.
She forced herself to sit up straight. To stop swaying toward him, even though she hadn’t even realized she was swaying toward him until she moved back. “Because it’s so hard to believe I might not have plans?”
“A woman who looks as good as you do always has plans.”
Oh God. That shouldn’t have made her want to jump his bones. She needed to back off. Or return to the old plan of getting him all hot and bothered before she left.