Closing my eyes, I sigh and take a breath.
“You don’t mind that we’ve traded places, do you?”
My eyes snap open and I’m greeted with the image of the hot and helpful stranger standing next to me in the exact spot where the elderly woman was just a minute before. He displays a heart-melting half smile.
I offer a flustered smile at him in return. “Not at all.”
He nods once at me before checking something on his phone. It’s a few seconds before I realize I’m staring at his deliciously thick neck. I quickly look down at my shoes and silently admonish myself for gawking at him. It’s rude to stare at someone you don’t know like they’re a dish you’re dying to taste.
You gotta be willing to take risks.
The words tumble in my head once more. Byron may be a jerk, but I bet he’s never too shy or intimidated to talk to anyone. He walks into every room like he owns it, even though he spends most of his days playing solitaire on his office computer and is still employed only because his dad started Expedition TV years ago.
If someone as unqualified and untalented as Byron has zero problem taking risks, I shouldn’t either.
So I swallow back all the nerves that typically swirl through me when I’m chatting with a hot guy. I wouldn’t normally ever think to flirt with someone on the subway. But it’s time to take a risk.
I glance back up at the hot stranger. “That was really sweet, what you did.”
He looks back at me. “Sorry?”
“What you did—giving up your seat for that lady.”
I jut my chin at the elderly woman, who’s sitting with a small smile on her face while looking through her purse, clearly more comfortable than earlier.
“Oh.” He smiles and runs a hand over his face.
My gaze snags on his forearm, which is exposed nicely by the rolled-up sleeves of the gray sweater he’s wearing.
“It’s nothing, really,” he says.
I raise an eyebrow at him, feeling more emboldened by the second. “It is, though. No one else was willing to give up their seat. You did.”
A smile tugs at his lips, and his light complexion flushes. He scratches at his short-trimmed beard. “Actually, if you were to find out the real reason I gave up my seat, you’d think I was a dog. Guaranteed.”
I let out a snort at his phrasing. “What, did you have some nefarious reason for doing it?”
He shrugs, a sly smile on his lips. The way his brownish-hazel eyes shine warms me from the inside out. I’m instantly mesmerized.
I take a half step over so I can be closer to him. Chatting up a stranger is risky. You don’t want to bother someone or make them feel creeped out. But all of this guy’s body language and conversation cues are on point. He’s positioned his body to face me. He’s keeping steady eye contact and smiling. He’s joking along with me and engaging in conversation. All clear signs he’s into this interaction.
And the best thing? He’s letting me lead things. In a city where women are bombarded with catcalls and unwanted advances daily, it’s demoralizing to constantly have to fight that attention off. Now that I’ve conquered my nerves, it’s refreshing to be the one initiating for once.
He bites the corner of his lip, which makes his smile look the slightest bit wolfish. I like.
“I wouldn’t say it was a nefarious reason,” he says. “More like half-selfless and half-selfish.”
“You’ve gotta tell me now.”
Chuckling, he glances down at the leather boots he’s wearing and smooths a hand over his tattered jeans. He locks eyes with me once more, then raises his eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Positive.”
“I gave up my seat because it was the right thing to do, of course. But getting to stand next to you was a nice bonus.”
His eyes fall to the ground once more as he blushes. A grin splits my face at his compliment.
“Didn’t see that coming,” I manage to say without sounding like a complete dork.
When he glances back at me, there’s a glimmer of hesitation in his eyes. “Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”
The car shudders to a halt, and the automated voice announces the stop for Bowling Green station. For a second, I worry that this is his stop and that’s the last I’ll hear from this sexy stranger. But he stays put as people around us shuffle in and out.
“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you said it,” I say while locking eyes with him once more.
“Really?”
My hand twitches with the urge to take this interaction to the next level.
Take a risk.
I reach toward him and set my hand on his forearm. “Really.”
The car moves as he eyes my hand on his forearm, his smile widening. A beat later I drop my hand back to my side. I’ve made my move. Now we’ll see if he’s into it or wants to just leave things at that.
“Hey, so . . .”
I turn back to look at him. He scrunches his lips for a second. On the inside, I let out a silent squeal. He’s nervous and it’s extremely cute.
“I don’t normally do this, but . . .” He rubs the back of his neck.
My ears perk up at what I hope he’s going to say.
“My stop is the next one, Borough Hall,” he says in a low, quiet voice. “I don’t know where you’re headed or what your plans are right now, but if you’re free, would you want to grab a drink? It’s been fun chatting with you, and I really don’t want it to end just yet.”
The pointed way he looks at me makes my stomach flip and my skin heat all at once.
“I’d love to . . .”
“Drew.” He sticks his hand out for me to shake.
“Lia.”
I shake his hand after giving him my childhood nickname. Not only is it easier for most people to pronounce—even though my full name is only one letter longer—it’s safer this way. Yeah, he’s sweet and sexy and giving off all the good vibes, but he’s still a stranger. Despite our flirty exchange, things could go south when we sit down for a drink. If that’s the case, it’s best he doesn’t know my full name so he can’t Facebook stalk me or anything like that.
“Lia.” The corner of his mouth quirks up, like he’s relishing how it sounds on his tongue. “That’s a beautiful name.”
“Thank you. Just one rule.”
“What’s that?”
“No work talk. It’s been a dumpster fire of a day for me, so I’d like to avoid all things work related.”
“I can handle that.”
The intercom announces the next stop, and we ease to a halt once more.
Drew flashes an easy smile at me. “Shall we?”
“Definitely.”
2
Drew eyes me over the rim of his glass. “Not possible.”
“Oh, it’s possible.”
“You’ve never had a hangover? I call BS.”
My head falls back as I laugh. We’re on our second drink—bourbon for us both—at the Brazen Head, and our first hour of conversation has been a blast. I’ve never hit it off this quickly with anyone before.
Sitting at the far end of the bar, we’ve moved from topic to topic, answering an array of questions about each other ranging from what we were like in high school to what is our favorite drunk-bingeing food. I’ve learned that Drew is an avid mountain biker who has traveled to every state and loathes pineapple and mushrooms. I’ve divulged that I prefer audiobooks to print books, can’t sleep past eight in the morning, and would rather do hot yoga for an hour every day than do a single push-up. Still the fun-and-flirty vibe remains.
“Of course it’s true,” I say. “I’ve made it to thirty-two without enduring a single hangover in my life. I refuse to start now.”
He sets his empty glass on the smooth wooden bar top and asks the bartender for another. “What’s you
r secret?”
“Pickle juice.”
He coughs on the sip he takes, covering his mouth. I pat his back while covering my own mouth to keep my giggling under control. The hard feel of his body under the fabric of his sweater elicits a low hum in my throat. I swallow to cover up the sound.
“Pickle juice? Is that a joke?” he asks, wiping his mouth with a cocktail napkin.
“Nope. I always keep a jar of dill pickle juice in my fridge. And then before I go out or have a drink at my place, I drink a cup of it. I read it in an article. Apparently the salt from the pickle brine replenishes the electrolytes you lose when you’re drinking, which helps prevent that god-awful headache most people get the morning after a rough drinking session. Or something like that.”
“Well, damn.” Drew’s stare turns thoughtful. “You’re just full of surprises, Lia. It’s pretty sexy. And a little weird. But mostly sexy.”
I roll my eyes while laughing. “You’re one to talk.”
He raises an eyebrow. It gives his expression a playful edge.
“Am I?”
“You and your ‘let me give up my seat on the subway for an elderly lady just so I can stand next to you’ move? Insanely sexy. That combined with how you look . . .”
He leans in closer and licks his lips. “How do I look?” His tone is a whispered growl that makes my knees weak and my mouth water. I blink and imagine his lips all over my body, that soft growl whispering all the unspeakable things he plans to do to me.
I steady my breathing, my mantra for the night sounding in my brain.
Take a risk.
“You’re sex on a stick, Drew.”
He makes a stuttered noise before clearing his throat; then he flashes a flustered grin. “I haven’t heard that one before. I’m flattered.”
The parts of his cheeks that aren’t covered by his beard turn pink. His eye contact doesn’t waver for even a second. That hungry look in his eyes sets off that newly formed risk-taking segment in my brain.
Take a risk.
“I’m just speaking the truth,” I say. “You’re insanely attractive.”
My gaze falls along the length of his body. I can’t stop gawking at his long and muscled legs, his lean torso, those broad shoulders, those meaty and veiny forearms that I hope will be pinning me to a bed at some point this evening.
My skin heats at the thought. I fight the urge to look away.
Take a risk.
“Insanely attractive,” I mutter again, almost to myself.
“Funny. I was just about to say the same about you.” His hand lands softly on top of mine. He turns it over so that my palm is exposed and starts tracing my skin with his index finger.
My breath catches, and I have to bite my lip to get my sounds under control. Never has such minimal contact driven me so wild.
Take a risk.
I lean forward and lay my signature first-date kiss on him. I wouldn’t normally kiss a guy less than two hours into knowing him—but this impromptu date is inspiring me to throw out the playbook. Might as well pull out all the stops.
The kiss I press on Drew lasts just a couple of seconds—but it’s the end that counts. Because when I start to pull away, I lick my bottom lip, and my tongue skims his mouth. It’s a way to give him a taste of the good stuff while leaving him wanting more.
When I settle back on my barstool, he doesn’t blink for a few seconds. He looks like he’s been shocked by an electrical current. Then he shakes his head slightly, seeming to refocus. A shy smile spreads across his face.
His gaze falls to my palm, then back to my face. There’s a new intensity behind his eyes. “Look, I don’t mean for this to sound as crass as it does, but . . .”
I hold my breath, wondering what he’s about to say.
“It’s taking everything in me not to ask you back to my place right now.”
“For the record, I’d say yes.”
He runs a hand though his hair, his face flustered as he chuckles. “Believe me, I want that more than anything. But my aunt is visiting me,” he says through a groan.
The hopeful bubble inside me bursts, but I laugh it off. “It’s okay. That makes me like you even more—that you’re not willing to ditch your aunt for a hookup.”
“It’s a tough call, believe me.” He sighs, the struggle on his face playing out as he asks the bartender for the check. I bite my lip, it’s so adorable.
He leans forward, gently grabbing my hand in his. “Please tell me you’re free tomorrow. Her flight leaves in the morning, and I’d like to see you again.”
“I’m free.”
Fire ignites behind his hazel-brown eyes as his lips tug into grin.
He pulls out his phone and we exchange numbers.
“Can I call you tomorrow?” he asks when he finishes signing the check.
“You’d better.”
“Then it’s a date.” The smile he flashes is one for the record books. It makes me weak in the knees and sends my stomach flipping and has my heart fluttering. No smile has ever had that effect on me before.
He stands up and helps me off my stool, then pulls that deliciously sweet move of leading me with soft yet firm fingers on the small of my back while walking out of the Brazen Head. Seconds later we’re standing on the sidewalk facing each other, grinning like goobers.
“Thank you for the drinks,” I say.
“Thank you for the company.”
Drew takes a step forward and pulls me in for a hug. When we pull apart, I lean up and press my lips against his for first-date kiss number two.
But this time he doesn’t let me leave so quickly. This time, he leads me in a teasing kiss that lasts long enough to illicit whistles and car honks from passersby.
When he finishes, my ears are ringing. I’m so dizzy I stumble a bit. He steadies me with a hand on my arm.
“You good?” he asks.
“Really, really good.”
“How are you getting home?”
My senses pull back into focus at the concern in his voice.
I flash my phone at him. “Ride-share app.”
“I’ll wait until your car comes.”
A minute later a car pulls up next to me. He opens the back passenger door for me, shuts it, then leans down so he can still see me. Through that killer smile, he mouths, “Bye,” then stands on the sidewalk, watching as I pull away. I grin the entire ride home.
* * *
• • •
I take a long sip of coffee as I sift through the mountain of Monday morning emails at my desk, still reeling from this letdown of a weekend.
Actually, “letdown” isn’t even the right way to describe it. “Soul-crushing” is more like it.
Because I was utterly crushed when Saturday came and went and I didn’t hear a peep from Drew. No call, no text, nothing.
I wince as I take another long gulp of coffee, remembering how I spent the day running errands and cleaning my apartment, checking my phone every few minutes. But nothing.
And then Saturday evening when I sent him a “you alive?” text, still nothing.
That’s as clear a sign as there ever was. Drew just wasn’t that into me.
And I think I know why—because I might be responsible for it.
I take a quick glance at my Twitter account and see that the photo I took of Drew on the subway helping that elderly lady has officially gone viral.
A thousand retweets—and thousands of comments, most of which are thirsty proclamations for Drew.
Who is this #subwaygentleman?? I need a name! And Twitter handle! And a phone number!
Damn, #subwaygentleman is a hottie for sure and is seriously making me consider scouring the streets of New York to try and find him.
Hot damn gimme some of that #subwaygentleman.
I have to resist a full-on cringe when I think about how I teed him up for man-hungry New Yorkers. When he left me Friday night, I have no doubt there were people prowling the streets for the subway gentleman.
I let out another sigh when I think about how close I was to tears Sunday morning when I checked my Twitter account and saw how Drew’s photo had blown up. There were hundreds of notifications on my phone—too many for me to sort through. So I decided to ignore them and haven’t checked Twitter since. That’s why he never contacted me. He must have crossed paths with one of his admirers and decided that she was more enticing. Or maybe he saw the tweet, realized I was responsible for it, and thought I was a freak for ogling him and making him go viral—then decided not to contact me.
I tried everything to get myself out of the rejection funk. I indulged in some wine and Netflix, then hit up a kickboxing class. Then Haley came over to my apartment Sunday evening and cooked her mom’s longanisa recipe with rice and eggs because it’s my ultimate comfort meal—and hers too. Ever since sophomore year of college when we became friends, we would cook that yummy spicy sausage for each other every time one of us was feeling down after a bad date, and it’s a tradition we’ve kept up. Now that it’s Monday morning, I’m more than ready to move on and pretend like Drew never happened.
I glance up and spot Haley through the glass wall of my office. She’s standing in one of the cubicles chatting with the new graphic designer, whose name I can’t remember. When he hunches over to check something on his computer, she looks away, catching my eye.
“You okay?” she mouths, the concern in her deep-brown eyes crystal clear, even from several feet away.
I nod, plastering a professional smile on my face.
She raises an eyebrow while retying her ponytail. “You sure?” she mouths.
I roll my eyes and mouth a silent “yes” in return.
But on the inside I’m still a mess. I connected with Drew in a way I haven’t experienced in ages. He was sweet and funny and charming. I’ve never felt that at ease that quickly on a date. That spark with him was special.
You’ve thought that before . . . Remember what a disaster that was?
On Location Page 2
