The bartender takes his money off the bar while shooting me a wink.
“So I don’t think we’ve formally met,” he states, holding out his hand. “I’m Alex Bishop.”
Swallowing, I place my hand in his. “River Lancaster.”
“That’s a beautiful name,” he tells me, moving my knuckles up to his lips and placing a soft kiss on them.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
We stare into each other’s eyes, and he keeps my hand in his. Somehow, I’m stuck in his trance, and I don’t know how to get out. He’s a beefy guy, solid and muscular, and I’ve never seen a man like him before. Most of the guys I’ve dated were gym rats, but I can tell he’s not. His body was built from hard labor.
“Here you go, bud,” the bartender interrupts with a sneaky grin on his face as he sets the beer down. The intense moment fades, and he
