Change of Heart - By S.E. Edwards Page 0,1

or not?” He tilts the glass ever-so-slightly, threatening to dump the ice cubes down the drain.

“Uh, yeah, hold on,” I say, trying to buy time. As I fumble through my purse for my wallet, I know it’s never going to fly. I haven’t used my fake ID once since moving from California, mostly because it wasn’t very good.

I start to regret my decision to shut out the bartender’s attempt at small talk. Maybe if I’d been friendlier at the start, he would have been willing to overlook the wristband issue. But I hadn’t been in the right frame of mind to think that far ahead. Now, he probably thinks of me as some cold bitch. This is just his way of getting back at me. While I would love nothing more than to pull out a real ID and show him up, I know that that isn’t going to happen.

But, what the hell? I might as well try the fake. If he calls me out on it, I’ll just leave—even if I have nowhere to go after what happened earlier tonight.

Just as I’m about to hand him the fake, I find two arms placed on either side of me, and feel a hard torso pressing up against my back. An unfamiliar voice speaks over my head. “Rod. You harassing my girl?”

“She’s with you?” The bartender sounds surprised. “I didn’t see the two of you together.”

“You’re questioning me?” The stranger’s voice sounds amused, but also… menacing.

Rod shakes his head quickly. “No, man, I believe you.”

“Good. Then whatever you’re making for her, make one for me, too. You can put it on my tab.”

“Sure, bro! No problem.” The bartender picks up a second glass and fills it with ice, then gets a bottle of dry vermouth to start on the drinks.

I can’t believe that worked. I don’t know who the person speaking above me is, but something about his calm, collected voice just oozes sex appeal. I sneak a glance to my left, and notice a small tribal tattoo decorating the inside of his forearm. Okay, now I’m intrigued—if still trying to suppress the annoyance boiling in me from earlier tonight.

“Look,” I begin, turning to address the stranger, “I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t particularly like being called ‘my girl’. Especially by someone I don’t even know…” The words die on my tongue as I get my first look at the man who still has his body so close to mine.

He’s tall. Much taller than I expected. At least a good foot taller than I am, and I’m not exactly tiny at five-foot-five. I have to tilt my head back to look at his face.

Stunning grey-blue eyes greet me. They regard me calmly from beneath a mane of dark reddish, unruly hair. His cheeks are hard and angular, his nose in perfect proportion to the rest of his face. His broad shoulders project power and confidence. “Handsome” would probably be the way most girls describe him. Maybe even “dreamy.” But I’m not most girls.

“Hello there,” he says. I’m struck again by the raw male edge that his voice carries. The effect is somehow augmented now that I have a face to match the voice to. “I think this is the time I’d ask if I can get you a drink,” he comments. “But it looks like we’ve already got that covered.” A knowing smile plays on his lips.

“Yes, I think we do,” I say flatly, trying to cross my arms to better relay my mood—and to create a little bit of space between us. He doesn’t budge. Instead, he nods, cocks his head to the side, and continues smiling at me.

“Is something funny?” I ask.

“No,” he replies. His eyes still haven’t moved away from my face. He’s either extremely confident, or extremely drunk. But, I can’t smell any liquor on his breath. His unwavering stare is a sure sign of sobriety. Confident it is, then.

“I’m Richard.”

To prove I’m not intimidated by him, I match his eye contact one-to-one. “…And?”

“Annnnd,” he drags out the word, “It’s nice to meet me? I think this is the part where you tell me your name.”

“Why would I do that?”

He chuckles, and finally takes a small step back. His body isn’t pressing against mine anymore. I find myself feeling an odd sense of loss at the change. “Because, that’s what we do in polite society, woman! It’s what separates us from the animal kingdom… and people from Jersey.”

“I’m from Jersey,” I lie, just to see how