Page 2 of Happily Evan After

I try to be casual as I turn my head to the right to see the end of the bar. Is she messing with me? Because the man at the end of the bar—currently talking to two women in skimpy dresses—is, hands-down, the most attractive human I’ve ever seen. Male or female. He’s just beautiful, there’s no other way to describe him.

His jawline is so chiseled, it must be the one that broke the proverbial mold. Brown hair falls in tousled waves around his head. The look is part carefree playboy, part romantic poet. Even from this distance, I can tell his body is insane. Muscular, big, and perfectly controlled in every movement.

And that’s from being across the bar with less than stellar lighting.

A guy like that? There’s no way he’s the one who hasn’t been able to take his eyes off me.

Lana is either fucking with me (unlikely) or trying to boost my confidence so that if Bro-Man tries to pick me up I’ll feel good about myself. Lana is snarky, but never ever mean (at least not to me), so I doubt she’s fucking with me. Trying to build up my confidence, however, is totally her jam.

Which is sweet of her, but unnecessary. I know I’m pretty enough. I have good hair when I bother to fix it. It’s blonde, which, for some reason I’ve never understood, matters to some guys. And I’m blessed with the kind of curves that often garner a second look.

Catching the brief attention of a random guy in a bar has never been the problem. It’s keeping that attention once the poor sap walks up to me. Once I open my mouth and start talking, I blow it by being too… well, too me.

Whatever mysterious, magical quality that allows some women to lure in men and hold their attention with sly looks and witty banter, I don’t have it.

Lana has it. In spades.

I’ve seen men go from Can-I-buy-you-a-drink to You’re-my-soulmate-will-you-marry-me in less than an hour with her. More than once.

It’s just who she is.

And it’s not who I am.

Maybe it’s the neurospicy thing. Maybe it’s something. But inevitably, when I open my mouth, I ruin it. Instead of banter, I end up talking about the geo-political implications of desertification in Africa. Or I point out a mole he should have checked. Once, I blurted that a guy reminded me of Snuffleupagus. I meant it as a compliment, but he took it the wrong way, and there’s no coming back from that.

Somehow, even worse than my unique brand of man-repellent is that I’m never sorry when I’ve driven a man away. By the time they make excuses, it’s a relief. Inevitably, I am as uninterested in them as they are in me. It’s hardly my fault I can’t tolerate men who are boring, self-absorbed twats.

This is something I’ve always been more at peace with than Lana has.

Still, I know she means well and that her concerns about the cobwebs in my lady garden might be valid. Yes, there’s a certain efficiency in my … um … toys, but every once in a while it would be lovely to achieve orgasm with someone capable of snuggling afterwards.

I sigh, looking at Mr. Hot Young Thing.

Hell, even if he doesn't want to snuggle after, this creature is beautiful enough that it hardly matters.

All of that flashes through my mind before he even glances in my direction.

Then, his eyes raise and meet mine, and it feels like a jolt of electricity shoots through me. He stands from his bar stool, says something to the women and then walks around them—to head to me. What is happening right now?

I will kill Lana if she set this up.

I glance around the bar and see my friend talking to one of the servers as she mixes a colorful drink.

“I was wondering when you were going to feel the weight of my stare and look over.”

The rich baritone voice is lined with just the hint of a Texas accent. The only thing sexier might be a British accent. Dammit.

I turn to face him, and wow—I was so not prepared.

Not for him up close. Not for him in all his sculpted handsomeness.

He flashes me a sexy grin. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten that reaction before.” He must see my confusion because he adds, “the wow.”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“You did.”

Well, I guess it’s better than comparing him to a Muppet.