A little too loud, a lot too trendy, and way too superficial for my taste. Give me a dark corner, a draft beer, and some short skirts paired with pairs of boots, and I’m in Heaven. Then again, a man has no right complaining about the ample display of bare flesh making the rounds in front of me. But damn, just like that first night we met in Las Vegas, I can’t help the one sight my eyes keep drifting to. The one person they keep getting lost on. This is beginning to be a serious problem. Now that I’ve tasted the temptation of Haddie—taken her scent, her sounds, and her addictive flavor to compare others against—hell if that one time hasn’t been seared into my goddamn memory. And damn. Just damn. Then there’s that look in her eyes. The one that screams she needs someone to help her see through the grief, to prove to her that opening up doesn’t mean she has to close the fuck down.
