A Season for Hope (Sarra Cannon) Read Online Free PDF Page B

carrying a bright green drink in a martini glass, garnished with a red cherry.
    “Wow, this looks amazing,” I say. “What’s in it?”
    “Vodka and Midori,” Beau says.
    I take a sip and am instantly addicted. “I can’t even taste the alcohol in this.”
    “Exactly the point,” he says. He winks at Judd, then takes off to help a group of girls who just hobbled over from the dance floor.
    “What was that wink about? Are you trying to get me drunk?” I tease.
    Judd throws up his hands. “I didn’t say that,” he says. “It just seems like you’ve had the kind of day where you could really benefit from a couple of drinks.”
    My smile fades and I play with the cherry. “Is it that obvious?”
    “That you’ve had a bad day?” he asks. “Other than the fact that you’ve got a nasty cut on your forehead from some jerk hitting you in the face with a door, you were just standing in the alley of a nightclub crying. I’d say, yeah, it’s pretty obvious.”
    Part of me wants to get up and walk away. What kind of guy tells you straight out that you look like hell and could use a drink? Then again, other than Monica, not many people in my life are willing to tell it like it is. Most of the people I know have been tiptoeing around me like I was a ticking time-bomb ever since Preston broke up with me. No one wants to push me or really talk to me about what I’ve been going through.
    This guy doesn’t seem to have any trouble just cutting through the bullshit and talking about the obvious.
    He’s very different from Preston, and right now, that’s exactly what I’m looking for.
    One glance at the dance floor tells me Monica’s going to be here for a while. She’s dancing with some guy I don’t recognize. And calling what they’re doing dancing is really a stretch, considering they’re mostly just grinding each other.
    I may as well sit here and enjoy myself. What could a few more drinks hurt?
    “So, Judd, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you since this afternoon,” I say.
    He takes another drink and my eyes drift to his mouth as it touches the glass. My stomach flips and I force my eyes away.
    “Ask me anything,” he says.
    I look down at the napkin and fiddle with a small plastic straw. It’s been years since I looked at anyone and felt that first flutter of excitement and attraction. Either this is the greatest drink ever invented or there might really be something here.
    I almost lose my train of thought in my nervousness.
    “Why do I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before?” I ask. “You look familiar, but I can’t remember ever meeting you before.”
    He laughs. “The Cup,” he says. “I come in there a lot to study.”
    My eyes widen and I study him. “Caramel mocha,” I say, snapping my fingers. “I knew I recognized you from somewhere.”
    How in the heck did I not notice how amazing and sexy he is before now? Was I really so blinded by Preston that I missed something that was right in front of my eyes?
    Or is the alcohol going straight to my crotch?
    Judd downs the rest of his beer and taps the bar top twice. Beau sets another down a few seconds later, like this is something they do all the time.
    “You don’t strike me as a med student,” I say, taking another sip of this magical green cocktail.
    “Why?” He chuckles.
    I shrug. “Long, impossible hours. No time for fun,” I say. “Plus, you don’t look the type.”
    I honestly don’t know why I’m saying all this. The alcohol is making my head spin and there doesn’t seem to be a filter between my brain and my mouth at the moment.
    He leans closer. “It’s the hair right?”
    I nod and look him over. “Yeah, maybe a little,” I say. “And the shoes.”
    He cocks his head toward me. “Shoes?”
    “I know it’s stupid, but I’ve always thought a person’s shoes said a lot about their character. Their ambitions, if you will. And you’re wearing those beat-up tennis shoes with a hole in them,”