No Strings

“Sure,” I tell the guy, plastering a fake smile on my face.

He grins and places his palm on my back, guiding me back over to the bar where I just left Dexter. Thankfully, there’s no sign of him. The bartender—the same one who took Dexter’s order—comes over and raises a single brow as if silently judging me.

“Two glasses of your finest champagne,” the gentleman requests, not even bothering to ask me what I want. Seriously, what is up with these men thinking the key to a woman’s pants is through expensive alcohol?

Once she disappears, he turns his attention on me. “I’m Javier.”

“I’m Savannah.”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” he says, laying it on thick.

We stand in silence while we wait for our drinks, and I use that time to assess Javier. He’s a good-looking man with inky black hair and tanned skin, but the way he carries himself is kind of… stuffy. His face is freshly shaven, and he’s dressed in a pin-striped suit complete with a tie and a watch that all scream, “I’m loaded.”

My gaze flicks over to Ben, who’s still sitting… and watching. Tonight, he’s dressed in a suit as well, but unlike Javier’s stuffy one, his gives off an I don’t give a fuck vibe. His gray pants are sexy casual, and as soon as we got here, he shed his jacket, leaving him in only a white dress shirt, sans tie, with the top few buttons undone, exposing a small spattering of chest hair. As he sits back in his seat with his ankle crossed over his knee, his sleeves are now rolled up, showing off his ink. He scrubs his few-days-old scruff with his palm, his eyes never leaving me.

It’s not that I don’t want him. I do. But I’m also happy for the first time, and he and his son are a part of the reason for that. When I first met him, I thought he was some stuffy asshole, but he quickly shed those tough layers and showed me the real Ben he keeps hidden underneath. And that man is someone I enjoy having in my life. I look forward to our lunch dates and dinner plans with Brody. He’s become someone I can talk to and have a good time with. Crossing that line with him will only complicate things, and is it really worth it for a few minutes of sex?

“Here you are.” Javier hands me a glass. “To meeting new people,” he toasts. We spend the next several minutes at the bar while he tells me about himself. By the time I finish my glass of champagne—which I must admit is delicious—I’m bored out of my mind. If I’m going to meet someone, I think I’m going to need to be a bit tipsier because doing this sober sucks.

“Would you like to dance?” Javier asks, gesturing toward the dance floor. I run my eyes over him again, trying to imagine this going anywhere, but I can’t. Because he isn’t who I want… not by a long shot.

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t,” I tell him, not wanting to lead him on further. “It was nice talking to you, though. And thank you for the drink.”

His brows furrow, but he doesn’t argue as I give him a small smile and then walk back toward my friends. Brianne spots me walking over, and I catch the pitying look on her face.

“Another dud?” she asks, obviously having seen me talking to the guy before him.

“Why are men so egotistical?” I grab the bottle of Grey Goose and pour myself a shot, quickly throwing it back, then pour another one and down that one just as fast. “They both couldn’t stop bragging about themselves long enough to even ask me about myself.” I roll my eyes. “I was already married to one selfish asshole. There’s no way I’m wasting my time on another. I’d rather get drunk and Savy myself.”

Brianne cracks up laughing, understanding the One Tree Hill reference—we spent countless hours watching reruns of it in our dorm—but Ben gives me a confused look, so I explain.

“It means to pleasure myself.”

His eyes fill with mirth. “Now that’s something I’d like to see.”

“Of course you would because it would mean not having to do anything!” I huff, taking my annoyance out on him. “Typical man. Would rather watch a woman please herself than do it himself.”

Ben’s gaze burns a hole into me, but I ignore him because I’m on a roll.

“I’m over it,” I announce, pouring myself another shot, ready to drink it down. “I’m oh for two in the men department tonight, and I’m not sure my liver can take much more.”

I raise my glass, toasting the air—because I’m obviously tipsier than I thought I was—but before I can down it, Ben stands and grabs my drink, dropping it onto the table. I stare at him in shock for a quick beat before he takes my hand in his and drags me away from the table, up a hidden set of stairs, and through a door marked PRIVATE.