Only two days had passed since I’d seen Brody, yet I still couldn’t get him out of my mind. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one.
“Cute.” Indie gave an unenthused wave to the guy at the other end of the bar who tipped his drink in our direction. She sighed as she brought her martini glass to her mouth. “But he’s no Brody Easton.”
“Can we not go there again? Your interest is bordering on stalkerish.”
“Well, I guess there’s always that guy.” She tilted her glass in the direction of an older guy who seriously resembled Dr. Hannibal Lecter from The Silence of the Lambs. He was standing alone in a corner, leering in our direction, and when he caught us looking, his rickety-toothed smile grew ridiculously wide. I would have felt safer if Hannibal had had the leather mask wrapped around his face.
