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drink while you wait.”
    His confidence turned me on.
    My eyes slid down his body. I shivered—cold to the bone and more aware of his movements than I should have been.
    In what seemed like a lifetime ago, when the rare urge for male companionship would strike, I’d simply go into a bar and pick up a man. It was easy. An art learned over years—lipstick bold, skirt short, heels high. Men liked women who looked sexy. They flirted with me. Bought me a drink. Complimented me on my eyes, my hair, my body. They didn’t know they didn’t have to—that was why I was there, after all. To have sex. No questions. No repeats. And even better, on my terms, which meant little conversation and no phone numbers. Relationships just weren’t in the cards for me.
    I wasn’t certain Logan McPherson met those no-strings-attached criteria, but then again, my life was different now. And that’s why I needed to leave. My resolve wasn’t as strong as it had once been. My emotional blockade had been slowly crumbling since Clementine entered my life. I had to leave. Yet, I didn’t.
    He continued to gaze at me, waiting for me to respond to his offer.
    I knew I shouldn’t give in, but I didn’t have the willpower to turn him down. Words eased out of my mouth that shouldn’t have. “Sure. Something to warm me up,” I answered, rubbing my hands together.
    With a single nod of his chin, he looked down at me for a beat or maybe two. Then he scanned the bar again. Even distracted, he was mesmerizing. After a few moments, he turned around and motioned for the female bartender he had been chatting with when I first arrived.
    Although the other side of the bar was packed, this side wasn’t quite so crazy. However, the tables were completely occupied. As soon as she slid two plates of burgers and fries to a waitress, she hurried toward him. “What can I get you?”
    I swiveled around in my seat and noticed a cup of coffee in front of him and another in front of me with a red lipstick stain on it. I wondered if that was why he was searching the bar.
    Was the person who had been sitting here returning?
    A girlfriend perhaps?
    “Two shots of Jameson,” he said.
    “Coming up.” The bartender’s smile was wide when she looked at Logan, like she thought she might just hit the jackpot later. It irritated me. She stretched and her flat belly visibly reflected in the mirror in front of her. I caught Logan’s gaze tracing the lines of her body as she reached higher, exposing more skin, and that irritated me more. But then I realized it was my gaze he was watching.
    Our connection wasn’t broken as the bartender set two shot glasses between us and slowly began to pour the amber-colored liquid.
    When she finished, I broke our gaze with a laugh. “You’re staring.”
    He didn’t seem to mind that he’d gotten caught. “How about you take your coat off.”
    Again, not a question.
    “No, I’m fine. I won’t be staying long.”
    The music seemed to be getting louder and he edged a little closer. “Uh-huh. The garage told you they’d be here in about thirty minutes, didn’t they?”
    “They tell everyone that,” the bartender blurted out.
    My eyes darted to her in annoyance and then back to him. The young McPherson didn’t find her intrusive behavior funny either. Then again, other than the cute wave he gave Clementine earlier, he seemed so serious. “Thanks for the drinks,” he said dismissively.
    She took the hint and returned to the other end of the bar.
    His gaze traced the lines on my face and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was trying to guess how old I was. “She was right—all the garages around here tell you it will take much less time than it actually does.”
    “Why would they do that?”
    He raised a brow. “Why does anyone do anything—for money. The economy is suffering in South Boston. All the small businesses are hurting for cash and want to make sure they secure your business.”
    “Well, I guess I’d better