When I lifted my gaze to his face, he was watching me with a crooked smile, his grin mirroring that of a cartoon devil’s. His eyes blazed red as they reflected the lights from overhead, further adding to the illusion of evilness about him, but despite him being a person unknown to me, I couldn’t believe for a second that he was a bad guy—he was just too unbelievably hot!
I swallowed some more beer, then nestled the glass between my knees, keeping my hand firmly over the top to prevent my drink from being spiked.
“I’m really sorry about your drink and your shirt.” It was all I could think of to say in that moment.
He was watching me so intently that it was almost uncomfortable, as though trying to see right into my very soul or my thoughts, or maybe he was mentally undressing me; not a bad thing in my eyes. If he could see into my thoughts, I deliberately filled my mind with assurances that it was okay, that he could undress me for real if he wanted.
As though he heard, his smile deepened and the dimples returned. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not as if I’m planning on wearing this to bed anyway, it was just to get me into this bar tonight.”
He turned his eyes away to survey the room and I was happy to see that he seemed disinterested with what it had to offer. I racked my brain to think of something else to say to him, wanting to hear his Irish accent again, as it sent a thrilling static straight to my groin. I received the mental image of him dressed in nothing but a sparkly green waistcoat, pointed boots and a leprechaun hat. He would probably hate the stereotype, but the image caused my cock to twitch.