Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Justin comes over for a bit; the girl he’d been chatting up is now gone. “You learning from the master by watching me all night, or you gonna get out there and mingle?” He slaps his hand down on the bar and signals for two more drinks.
“The master? Yeah, you’re the master all right,” I reply, my sarcasm taking over. “I’m good. Just enjoying the scenery from the bar.” I glance back over my shoulder and see my redhead has left.
I spin back on the barstool and down the last two gulps of my drink just as a fresh one arrives.
I must be boring Justin because he’s now talking to a girl a few stools down. I overhear her say that she loves classic rock like Smash Mouth and Madonna. Some of my brain cells die an instant and agonizing death from her comments. “Classic rock,” I scoff purposely loud.
I’m still laughing at my sardonic thought when Justin says, “So Tiff and I are gonna take off. You cool hanging here by yourself?”
“Yeah, sure.” I lean back, scanning the bar one more time. I see the girl in the black dress again with her friend and two guys. I smile, because she didn’t leave. From her expression, I can tell how disinterested she is in the man hovering too close to her. Her body language says everything she’s not, but he keeps talking, missing her obvious disinterest.
Looking back at my friend, I say, “No problem. Go on. I’m cool.”
Justin and his new potential leave, and I’m left to watch these players hit on my redhead. Would it make a difference if those jerks weren’t just trying to get laid? Stop analyzing weird crap! Looking back at my drink, I watch the ice melt, wondering why I’m even here. It’s not my scene at all. Though, these days, I’m not sure what my scene is. I think I’m ready for someone more permanent in my life, not this ongoing dating business. I’ve outgrown this scene enough not to make an effort, and I’ll stay just to finish my drink.
I’m not an aggressive guy and know full well I won’t intrude on another man’s game. My redhead will be interested in that schmuck, or she won’t. I’ll watch and see how it plays out.
A few minutes later, without a drink in my hand, I’m debating whether I should stay or go. I decide to go, but I’ll check on the girl before I do. I negotiate with myself. If the guy is still there, I’ll leave. If he’s not, I’ll go talk to her.
Just as I turn around, I’m chest to chest with brown eyes, long brown hair, and a sinful red dress.
Smiling, her hand lands on my chest. “Hi there, handsome. I hope you’re not leaving.”
I sit back down because when a woman like her wants you to stay, you do. The only problem is I’m more interested in her friend. Looking over her shoulder, I scan the bar to see if she’s left, but that’s what I assumed before, so this time I want to verify.
“I’m Charlie.” She giggles for some reason when I introduce myself. I don’t get the joke, so I move on and ask, “Are you here alone tonight?” Straightforward, but I need to know to clear my thoughts of the pretty girl.
She glances over her shoulder, then looks me in the eyes. “Yes, it appears that way. I’m Rachel.” She’s flirting. “Are you here by yourself tonight?”
I’m a believer in destiny, so I don’t like things forced—if I am meant to meet her, I will. Guess it’s not in the stars tonight. “I am now. The friend I came with took off.”
We talk, and I discover she’s funny. She speaks fast, almost too fast. I hope it’s nerves and not that late-night desperation.
She asks, “Do you live in the area?”
“Sort of, about six blocks away. How about you?”
“Down the street. I love the access to the park.”
I offer her my barstool, but the one next to me becomes available and she settles there.
“There’s a dog park around the corner from my apartment. I don’t have a dog, but I find it fascinating to sit and watch the animals interact. Dogs are interesting, that’s for sure.” I don’t even know what I’m talking about. I blame the alcohol for the gibberish.
An odd thought strikes me as she talks about some couple out in the Hamptons selling their estate. What if the redhead was brought into my life so I can meet her friend? “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Yes, I’d love a . . .” She stops speaking for a moment, and I follow her gaze, my eyes meeting bright blue ones and a black dress—my redhead. “Oh! Here’s my friend. Charlie, this is Charlie. How funny is that?”