by Skye Jones
“Why?” She wrinkled her nose and her brow furrowed as she watched him.
“Because I admire the way you look, the way you hold yourself. Why does a man ever ask a woman for a drink?”
She stared at him for a beat longer and then gave a short nod. “Okay, one drink.”
He grinned and motioned for her to follow him as he cut a swathe through the drunken revelers.
Chapter One
I stared at Jake as he ordered me a glass of Prosecco. He’d said he admired the way I looked and held myself. Yeah, I’d take it with a pinch of salt. His remark about why did a man ever buy a woman a drink rattled around my mind. Why indeed? There were many reasons, some better than others.
This man seemed too good to be true, looks wise at least. He was a man, too, not a boy. All man. With his height, and his build, and the charisma he threw off like heat from a furnace. He made every other guy in the place seem a pale imitation of masculinity in comparison. I’d noticed him an hour ago as he’d stood, leaned against the wall, one leg bent as he sipped at his drink. I’d briefly thought about how lucky some woman would be if such a fine specimen singled her out. I didn’t trust him apparently choosing me.
Amongst my small group of friends, I’d always been at the bottom of the pile when it came to being asked out. I knew I wasn’t hideous, but I carried some extra weight, and had somehow ended up with two best friends who looked like they’d dropped off the Victoria’s Secret catwalk. To top it off, they were genuinely nice girls, so I couldn’t even secretly hate them.
Jake turned to me, drinks in hand, and jerked his chin towards the stairs in the middle of the room.
“Let’s go and sit in the VIP area. It’s quieter.”
I watched the back view as I trailed after him. Nice. I’d never particularly been an ass girl, but wow. Jake might yet convert me.
Jake looked a fair bit older than most of the boys I’d gone out with. Early thirties maybe? Which made him around ten years older than me. A tiny frisson of excitement ran through me. Ooh, I might be about to have an encounter with a hot older man.
As we neared the stairs, I tapped Jake on his arm, feeling the solid muscles through his shirt. “I don’t have VIP access.”
“I do, which means as my guest you do, too.”
The VIP thing didn’t impress me much. I didn’t like flash guys who threw their cash around. Didn’t trust them as far as I could throw them. Yeah, seemed I’d trust issues aplenty when it came to men. Not surprising after Daddy Dearest ran off with a woman half his age, leaving me and mum alone to fend for ourselves. It broke Mum’s heart, hence the move from Ireland to Scotland when I reached thirteen. My mum couldn’t stand to keep bumping into the happy new couple.
We approached the glass doors to the VIP area, and the bouncer opened them, nodded at Jake, and let us pass.
“Let’s sit here.” Jake led me to a small seating enclave right next to the large windows looking down over the club below. “You can see your friends this way.”
I liked the way he thought about making me comfortable. “So, you’re not from here?” I asked as we sat.
“No. I’m not a city kind of a guy generally.”
“Really?” I sat forward. His clothes looked like a city-boy outfit, smart dark jeans, a fitted shirt and black dress shoes. “I’m not a city girl, either. I’ve lived here since aged thirteen, but I miss the country. I grew up in Ireland, in a tiny village near the coast. I still miss it.”
“Why did you move?”
“Oh, Mum wanted a new start.” I didn’t feel comfortable airing all our dirty laundry so kept the answer simple. “We’ve family here, so she decided to up sticks and bring us to the city. She’s on a holiday at the moment out in Greece.” I smiled thinking of her soaking up some deserved sun with her best friend. I turned the conversation back to him, wanting to know more. “So do you live out in the country?”
“Yes. I live and work in a…it’s sort of an eco-commune.”
Nothing would have surprised me more. He was ridiculously good looking, polished, and he spoke with a strange, almost accent-less inflection. I’d marked him down as maybe a city slicker from London, visiting Scotland for business.
“You don’t look like someone who lives in an eco-commune.” I took a sip of my drink, and smiled as the crisp, cold bubbles burst on my palate.
“I don’t usually dress like this. You’ll mostly find me in old jeans, a tee, and some work boots.”
My kind of guy.