Although he had top shelf bourbon at his cool, serene apartment on Haywood, he'd opted to drown his sorrows with cheap beer at a Stark Street bar. The Tailspin stank of cigarette smoke, sweat and bitter disappointment. It matched his mood.
He hadn't intended to let a beautiful woman derail his plans.
Not one wearing thigh-high boots with stiletto heels.
Not one clad in a black leather mini-dress that barely covered her ass.
But when she ran the nail of her index finger up his spine, he was… distracted.
"Come home with me," she whispered.
He stood. He capitulated.
"Babe."
