Chapter 4-2
1120 Words
whyBeck tipped his glass to me before raising it to his lips. “Got it.”
As he drank, I noticed the chunky watch on his wrist—Audemars Piguet, not Rolex. I’d always felt the type of watch a man wears says a lot about him. Most men use a Rolex as a status symbol, showing off that they can afford to spend the price of a car to decorate their wrist. And they know others know it too, since it’s one of the world’s most popular luxury brands. On the other hand, Audemars Piguet is not particularly well known to a non-watch person, and it’s generally more expensive. Most men wear a Rolex for other people, but an Audemars Piguet is worn for yourself. Mr. Attitude moved up a notch in my book.
The second thing I often used to gauge a man was the drink he ordered. Beck’s glass had been full when I came back from the ladies’ room, so I wasn’t sure what the amber liquid was. I presumed some sort of whiskey.
“Is that scotch?” I motioned to the tumbler in front of him.
He held it out to me. “Whiskey. Would you like to taste it?”
“No, but I’m curious what kind it is.”
He tilted his head. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I’ve just always found a certain type of man orders a certain type of drink.” My eyes pointed to his wrist. “Watches can tell a lot about a person, too.”
“So my watch and telling you what brand of whiskey I’m drinking is going to help you figure out who I am?”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
He finished what was left in his glass and signaled the bartender, who walked right over.
“What brand did you say this was?” he asked.
“It’s called Hillcrest Reserve. Made about ten miles away from here by a third-generation distiller.”
Beck pushed his glass forward on the bar. “Thank you. I’ll take another when you get a chance.”
Once the bartender walked away, Beck looked to me. “Apparently it’s called Hillcrest Reserve.”
My brows furrowed. “Did you not know that when you ordered it?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I asked if they had any locally made, small-batch whiskey. I like to try local foods and whiskey when I travel. I live in Manhattan. I can walk into any bar and get two-hundred-dollar-a-nip Macallan. But I can’t get Hillcrest Reserve.”
I smiled. “I like that.”
“But you look surprised. I take it my selection doesn’t match the type of man you’d assumed I was.”
“Not really.”
“What did you think I was drinking?”
My smile broadened. “The two-hundred-dollar-a-nip Macallan you can get anywhere.”
Beck chuckled. “And what type of man orders that?”
I took a drink of my wine and set it down. “The kind who lives in Manhattan, works in mergers and acquisitions, and wears a fancy suit and Rolex. Basically every Wall Street douchebag standing outside Cipriani for happy hour on a Friday afternoon.”
Beck threw his head back in laughter. I’d just insulted the guy, and he was amused. “I guess I made a pretty shitty first impression.”
I deadpanned. “You told me I should look someplace more respectable for my dates.”
respectable“I thought you deserved better.”
“I think you’re full of s**t. You’re only being nice now because you know I was looking for a night of no strings attached, and you think you have a shot at being my replacement.”
“Am I out of the running?”
I took a moment to check him out again. Damn, he’s pretty. “You’re only hanging on by a thread because you’re gorgeous.”
Damn, he’s prettyA slow, sexy smile spread across his face. “I like your honesty.”
“I like your jawline.”
His eyes gleamed. “You’ll like my big d**k even better.”
I bit my bottom lip. The conversation had just taken a turn toward most of my Tinder messages—definitely a place I was more comfortable than talking about why I wanted to forget my life for a while. “How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”
“How did you know the Tinder loser wasn’t?”
Good point. I sipped my wine. “How old are you?”
Good point“Old enough that I know what to do with you, and young enough that I don’t have to take a pill to do it.”
I smirked. “Is that so? You know what to do with me?”
He smiled self-assuredly. “I do, yes.”
The air crackled between us. For some reason, I knew this guy could deliver on his promise. Maybe it was his quiet confidence, or maybe it was that a man who looked the way he did got lots of practice. The latter would’ve been a turnoff if I was looking for more than one night, but it didn’t much matter if it served my purposes for a one-time deal.
I looked into his too-blue eyes. “Tell me then.”
“Tell you what?”
“What you would do with me.”
The wicked grin that slid across his face almost made me want to take back what I’d asked. Almost.
Almost.Beck lifted his glass and gulped his drink before leaning over to my ear. “I’d start by burying my face in your p***y until you came all over my tongue. Then I’d f**k you like I hate you.”
Oh God. My toes actually curled. Sold!
Sold!He pulled back to look at me and raised a brow.
I teetered on the edge, debating whether I was crazy for considering taking this man up to my room. While I deliberated, I happened to look down.
Holy s**t. His slacks had pulled tight around the top of one thigh, and there was a distinct bulge running down his leg. A very long, very thick bulge.
Holy shitverylongvery thick I was a woman who believed in signs, and that one I couldn’t miss. So I knocked back the remainder of my wine and slipped one of my two hotel keycards from my purse, sliding it over in front of the man next to me.
that“Room two nineteen. Give me a ten-minute head start so I can freshen up.”
- Writer
