The bartender nodded and winked as he served up a tumbler of ice water. Those blue eyes and his sexy scruff sent my heart racing, though he was a touch young. Early twenties, if I was lucky, while I was fast approaching the big three-zero.
He placed a flute in front of me, and I returned his smile, tracing a finger along the rim and admiring the artfully curled lemon peel. “Champagne?”
“Close. It’s a French 75.” Flirty bartender winked. “An elegant drink for a beautiful lady. On the house.” He wiggled his brows before turning to the next person in line.
I took an experimental sip, detecting hints of gin and lemon, the tingly champagne bubbles tickling my tongue. Delicious. After a slight nod and smile at the bartender, I turned to observe the continuing action, Celia’s teal dress catching my eye. Yup, she’d caught her first victim, hauling the poor soul toward the crowded patch of floor in the centre of the room.
Wait. Was that …? I squinted at the figure in the well-cut suit. He was thinner than I remembered. A touch scruffier, too, with his hair curling over his collar, the shadow of a beard darkening his jawline. Hmmm. This rough and tumble yet thoroughly hot and sexy look suited Jake. Married looked mighty fine on the man, even if I hated that another woman had brought him the happiness I’d only dreamed of.
Jake’s amber eyes paired with his dark, silky hair and broad shoulders always had an immediate effect on women, throwing their libido into overdrive. In the early days of our relationship, I’m sure I’d worn an expression similar to the one Celia wore now, many, many times. I’d often wondered why he’d picked me when he could have chosen one of the model-perfect blondes who continually flirted with him whenever we ventured into public. On those occasions, he’d been polite but never returned their blatant interest.
It seemed nothing had changed. Politeness ruled as he performed his obligatory best man duties, including dancing with the flirty bridesmaid. Though if he were my husband, I’d be stepping in and telling that particular pushy woman shaking her assets in his face to shove off. Where was his wife, anyhow?
I sighed. None of my business, that’s where. More unwelcome news greeted me as I turned, searching for the adorable bartender, but a slender blonde with a pixie cut had replaced him. Damn. Now I had nothing to do but stare into my half-empty drink, avoiding the sight of my ex-boyfriend cutting those moves on the floor. I downed the remainder, nodding as the new bartender motioned to my empty glass, then I chanced a look over my shoulder. Time to leave, or should I risk my ex-love catching me ogling him with pathetic longing? Maybe I should hang out until his wife made an appearance and satisfy my curiosity about Mrs. Cavallaro.
“Hi.” A blond man leaned on the bar beside me, his chin tipped down. “Care to dance?”
I tilted my head as he smiled, and his gaze travelled upward, revealing startling blue eyes. That’s right, dude. Eyes go up here, not down there. I tugged at my dress and shook my head. The blue-eyed cutie, who shrugged and moved on to the woman three seats away, would only be a risky distraction bound to drop me into the line of fire. The minute I hit the floor, Jake would spot me, and nothing would make me happier than buckling into my seat for the return flight to Vancouver without engaging in a single awkward conversation with my ex-boyfriend.
However, that didn’t stop me from tormenting myself as I settled in with another drink. The action on the floor drew my attention, and I peered through the crowd, keeping tabs as Celia kept Jake on the floor for a second and third song.
When the strains of a slow melody floated through the air, Jake leaned in, saying something to the woman before breaking away and heading toward the far side of the club.
Celia scouted his progress, a pout forming as she approached the bar and flagged down the bartender. She arched one over-plucked brow as she waited for her cosmopolitan. “Why are you sitting here … alone?”
I shrugged. “I’m recuperating.”
“How will you find a man if you don’t join the fun? Weddings are for hot drunken romps between the sheets. You should get out there.” She scooped up her glass, sucking down the drink in seconds, still scanning the dance floor. Her eyes lit up. “My good doctor is back. Maybe later he’ll give me a physical.” She fluttered her fingers and trotted away with tiny, mincing steps.
“He’s married,” I said, even though Celia was half-way across the floor. “Anyway, he’s not that kind of doctor.” But if the woman didn’t care about the wife, why would she care that Jakob Miguel Cavallaro was a marine biologist who’d never given a physical in his life? Not an official one, anyhow.
I waved a trembling hand at the bartender and motioned to the empty flute, amazed at Celia’s progress in her tottery heels as she bore down on the group of men Jake had joined.
Jake’s eyes narrowed in the direction of the advancing bridesmaid, then he ducked into the crowd, reappearing moments later, weaving toward the bar. The familiar dimple creased his right cheek. “Well, well. Imagine running into you here.” He leaned on the bar and flagged down the bartender, the gold ring on his left hand flashing. “Whiskey, please, and another drink for Amara here. Make mine a double.” When our drinks arrived, he said, “Can you charge these to room 3412? Thanks.” He promptly downed a good portion of his whiskey. “Where’s your other half? I was looking forward to meeting the man who finally won you over.”
“Haven’t you heard?” A wiggle of my fingers drew his attention to my missing ring.
“Oh, Mar.” Jake frowned and leaned closer, his woodsy masculine scent combining with the slightly sweet smell of his whiskey,
