On the other hand, I had given my name to Mia, curious if she would react or call me out on it. She hadn’t, despite hearing my last name from the bartender. She also had clearly been intending to walk away and not pursue further interaction with me. I was glad she had decided to stay.
“What are you drinking?” I asked Mia.
“A vodka martini.”
I ordered one from the bartender, whose smile had stiffened a little, and then studied Mia.
She was average height, curvy, with lush lips that were tempting me to taste them. Her nose was straight and strong, her cheekbones high, and her auburn hair was wavy and thick. Her dress wasn’t showing a lot of cleavage, but she had an enticing hourglass shape in a green velvet dress, and overall she was sexy and gorgeous and didn’t deserve to be stood up.
“What do you do for a living, James?” she asked, resting her feet on the bar on the stool, her hemline shifting up higher from the movement.
I forced myself to lift my eyes from her legs and that shadow it created right over her knees. It was the perfect hole to slide my hand into and touch her creamy thigh. I cleared my throat, cock starting to harden at the thought.
It was also making me hot to hear her call me James. No one called me that. Not my mother, not my friends, not Sunday announcers during games. It made me feel like a businessman. Like she was taking me seriously.
She was waiting for my answer.
Was that a trick question? Did she actually know who I was? But she just looked mildly curious, nothing more. It seemed to be a polite question, not anything leading.
I opened my mouth and did something I never do.
I lied.
I wasn’t even sure why. But it was interesting that she had no preconceived notion about me, because to her I was just another guy alone at a bar in Las Vegas. A businessman in town for work who bought bourbon he probably couldn’t afford. It was odd but liberating. Like whatever she said to me would be honest, natural, not tainted with any sort of agenda tied to money or fame.
“I’m a luxury boat salesman.”
Why the fuck I said that, I had no idea, other than I’d met a guy the week before at my buddy’s cocktail party who had been in town visiting him and he was a boat salesman. He sold yachts worth millions of dollars.
“That sounds interesting.” Mia didn’t look like she thought it was interesting at all. “Is there a big market for that?”
“You’d be surprised.”
“In Vegas?” She shrugged. “Though I guess rich people do things that don’t make sense.”
“I live in Miami.”
It came out of my mouth before I could even think about it. Because it would be stupid to be a luxury boat salesman in Vegas, she was right. So I covered my lie with another lie. Which wasn’t a total lie. I did have a condo in Miami Beach that I went to in the summer when Vegas was hot as fuck and sadly lacking in giant bodies of water.
“What brings you to Vegas?”
Good question. “A conference.”
Now I was officially catfishing her. James, the boat salesman, in town for a conference. I almost rolled my eyes at myself.
Way to go, Beckett.
Then because I didn’t want to further discuss the career that I didn’t actually have, I said, “Did you have a friend bail on you tonight?”
Her head tilted and she ran the tip of her tongue over her lip as she watched me. “You are a stalker. You were watching me.”
“Guilty. I couldn’t help but notice you, a beautiful woman sitting by herself.”
“I didn’t notice you at all.”
That made me laugh. “Clearly. You ran straight into me with your big-ass bag. What the hell is in that?”
“Everything,” she said, cheerfully. She took a sip from her martini.
“It looks like those dumpster bags people fill up with construction debris.”
“That’s not completely inaccurate. There probably is debris in here.” She patted it with great affection. “It’s saved me more than once.”
“From what? Did you hide in it from a serial killer? Use it as a gravitational pull to the earth during a tornado?”
Mia shot me a look of amusement. “No, though thank you for the great ideas. I’ll have to remember them. I have everything I need in here.”
“You did have a stain stick. That’s impressive.” I glanced down at my shirt. The stain did seem to be disappearing.
“That’s just the beginning. I can feed your dog, floss your teeth, and fix your leaking toilet with what I have in here.”
I eyed her, a little dubious. “Fix a toilet? Come on. My father is a plumber. I call bullshit.”
With a certain amount of ceremony, she yanked open the bag. It was like the gaping mouth of a whale shark. “Look for yourself.”
“You’re going to let me look in your purse?”
“Sure, why not? I want to see the expression on your face. This will be more entertaining than going home alone to eat a toasted cheese, because yes, I was stood up by a man I’ve never met. Kyle. Do you know him?” she asked.
I grinned. “Yes, and he’s a real asshole. Parks in two spots and stiffs service professionals.”
“He’s dead to me, then.”
“I was stood up too by my friend. He thought it was more important to be present at the birth of his child.”
“Wow, that is so selfish. You need better friends.”
I liked that she appreciated my sense of humor. I lifted my bourbon glass. “To new friends.”
“To new and better friends.” She clinked my glass with hers.
While she took another delicate sip, I touched the side of her purse, a little afraid to see what the hell she had in there. It was a place of wonderment. Mary Poppins-level shit. Just the top layer contained a sweater, a hairbrush, a spoon, and a phone charger. “Why do you have a spoon in your purse?”
“To eat cereal on the bus.”
That sounded horrifying, so I decided not to press her on it. “How many layers are beneath this one?”
“Dig around.” She shoved the sweater aside. “See? A wrench and a screw driver. Duct tape. A toothbrush. Sunscreen. Nail polish. A sewing kit.” As she spoke she touched and shifted objects around. “You give it a try. Dig in and see what you come up with.”
“This is like that game as a kid where you’d close your eyes and have to eat something and guess what it was. I hated getting mini marshmallows. They were so disgusting.”
“What kind of a game is that?” she asked. “Games in my childhood were more along the lines of run around the woods and leave the adults alone.”
“Where did you grow up? There aren’t a lot of woods in Vegas.”
“Georgia. Are you a native Floridian?”
For a second I wondered what would make her think I had grown up in Florida, then I remembered I was supposed to live in Miami full-time. “No. I grew up in Texas and went to college in Baton Rouge.” Stick to the truth as much as possible.
“You look like a college boy.” She made it sound like something of an insult, but before I could comment, she patted her bag. “Come on, play the game. Close your eyes if you want to be reminded of your childhood.”
“Oh, hell, no,” I said. “I am not closing my eyes.” I wasn’t even sold on the concept of rooting around in her purse, but I was willing to roll with it. “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.” I peered into the bag and shifted around the sweater and the hairbrush. I spotted something intriguing. “What is this?” I pulled the jar out and read the label. “Hot sauce. Why do you carry around hot sauce?”