2

“Everything alright?” The bartender asked, his voice a friendly anchor. He was young, with a quick smile and hands that moved with practiced ease.

Isabella looked up to see him smiling at her, his hands busy drying off a glass. She returned his smile as her eyes scanned the leather-bound menu on the counter. She needed something a bit sharper than just bourbon now, or at least a little different and more fun. Something to cut through the heavy floral scent of the lilies and the lingering sentimentality of the wedding. 

“Everything is great,” she replied, “Would you make that a vodka martini instead?”

He cocked an eyebrow when she made her request. “Shaken, not stirred, madame?” His Scottish-accented Bond impression was just ridiculous enough to make her laugh, a genuine sound that loosened the knot in her chest.

“However you recommend it.” she replied.

“You sure?” He raised both brows, leaning in slightly. “It’s pretty strong too.”

“Sounds perfect,” she said, flipping open her clutch and retrieving her phone to check her messages. But she’d not even lit the screen before her eyes drifted, drawn like a compass needle to a brooding silhouette sitting not twelve feet away.

He was tall—that much was evident even in his relaxed, seated position. He had one leg crossed casually over the other, an ankle resting on his knee in a way that screamed unbothered confidence. His suit was a masterpiece of dark tailoring, the kind that didn't just fit a man but announced him, paired with tan leather shoes that glinted under the low bar lights. There was a broadness to his shoulders that filled the space around him, a physical gravity that Isabella felt pulling at her skin. Where the hell had he come from? She definitely didn't remember him being at the wedding. 

Isabella’s gaze traveled upward. The crisp white shirt sat smoothly over his torso, no hint of spread. Then they drifted higher, where the last fastened button left just enough room for a glimpse of dark hair curling against his throat. Her pulse skipped a beat and her mouth went dry. She snapped her eyes back to her phone, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

Seriously, what the hell was wrong with her today? Was she that desperate to get laid? Was she that fed up with her vibrator that her body was now putting up a fight? Truth was, she had no qualms about being in a relationship, but she just hadn't thought about being in one for a while. Plus, her dildo didn’t require small talk back. Didn't require care, affection or any sort of emotional labor. 

But one night, though. Think of the possibilities…

The logic of her independence was losing a war against the heat simmering low in her belly as she activated her phone screen. Still no notifications. She sent off a brief ‘Where are you?’ message to Tessa and placed the phone back on the bar, her heightened awareness picking up on movement from the man’s direction. She watched him crook his finger to the blonde waitress hovering nearby and an inexplicable pull ripped through her. Damn, he was reeling her in with that finger too.

She bit the inside of her lip as she watched him. His hair was rakishly long, dark and thick enough to run fingers through. His jawline was a sharp, chiseled edge that softened only when he offered a quick, easy grin to the waitress. And his eyes—even from this distance, they felt like a magnetic field. She couldn't tell the color, but she could feel the weight of them… Something about them. They looked… sinful.

Her stomach contracted with a sudden, sharp burst of heat, and in that second, the decision made itself. She wanted to leave with him. She wanted one night of crazy. No names, no real talk, no foundations or expectations, just wild, no-holds-barred sex.

Could she do such a thing? Would he want to do such a thing?

It wasn't her nature to be the hunter, but tonight, nature was taking a backseat to need. Mentally, she began to unfasten his buttons, one by one, imagining the friction of skin against skin until her thighs clenched tight in their folded position.

“One vodka martini.”

“Huh?” Isabella jumped, her eyes snapping back to the bartender. He was placing a chilled glass and a small napkin in front of her, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Your drink,” he said, leaning over the bar as he smiled teasingly. “Distracted, much?”

“Quite,” she managed, her voice a bit breathy. Understatement of the century.

Warmth flooded her cheeks as she took hold of the olive stick, slowly stirring the drink. She watched the mini-whirlpool she created, trying to use the icy temperature of the glass to chill her rising temperature. She took a sip—the cold, sharp burn of the alcohol hit her throat and then her bloodstream, a perfect contrast that made her hum in appreciation.

She felt her shoulders drop. Her posture softened into something more predatory, more certain. She rolled her head, letting her gaze wander back toward the man.

Fuck.

Their gazes collided. He was already looking at her, the invitation in his eyes sending lust tearing through her. Panic warred in her chest as she forced herself to look away. Where the hell was Tessa before she gave in to these crazy thoughts? 

Damn. 

She forced her attention to her phone and issued her a text that said as much to Tessa. Seconds later a text arrived. 

‘I'm sorry, Izzy. David and I left almost after Liv and Derek. I thought you’d headed out with your parents! Call me tomorrow?’

Great. Just great, Isabella thought as she read the text. What a nice reminder of how lonely she was. She was officially on her own. A minute later, she caved and beckoned the bartender over. There was no harm in putting things in motion.

“Already ready for another?” he asked, seeing the half-empty glass.

She grinned, the thrill of the gamble making her feel lightheaded. “Please… but first,” she took a deep breath before asking, “do you know what Mr. Distraction over there is drinking?”

The bartender followed her gaze, a knowing, conspiratorial smirk spreading across his face. “You want to send him one?”

“Maybe…” Isabella took a long, slow sip of her martini, her eyes flitting back to the man. He was still watching her, his glass held loosely in one hand. She swallowed hard, her pulse thrumming in her ears. “So, come on—will you tell me?”