Torn: An Alpha Billionaire Romance by Tristan Vaughan & Ellie Danes

Author:Tristan Vaughan & Ellie Danes [Vaughan, Tristan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: alpha romance
Published: 2018-02-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Three

Riley

My hair was a wild tangle, my eyes still puffy from tears, and my linen blouse was a criss-cross of deep wrinkles. Hiding out in the corner of a dark bar was just what I needed.

Unfortunately, when I’d hurried toward the end stool, a tall man materialized from a narrow side door. He settled onto the stool I had chosen and picked up a conversation with the bartender as if he had always been there.

A strong clash of attraction and hatred had tripped me up. He was over six feet tall with the kind of wavy dark brown hair that was always perfect. When he surveyed the room, I caught a flash of his electric blue eyes. His faded button-down shirt opened over a clean, tight white t-shirt that clung to his hard abs. Even in rumpled jeans, the man's good looks were magnetic, and I hated how his handsomeness exacerbated my already paralyzing self-consciousness.

Here I was stranded in a drive-by town so small I would have passed it in under a minute if the rental car hadn't died. I cursed the rental car clerk for getting that word in my head. Died, dead, gone. Now all I could think about was my grandfather. I should have been alone on a beach, watching the sunset as I remembered Grandpa, not stuck here.

I sniffed back tears and picked another bar stool. Then I glanced around the small bar. It was nowhere I wanted to be, but a small voice in my head reminded me Grandpa would have loved it. He would have loved the old-fashioned jukebox in the corner, the red vinyl booths, and the long brass rail along the foot of the bar. My grandfather would have rapped a complicated rhythm on the worn bar with his knuckles before ordering a whiskey neat. God, I missed him so much I couldn't breathe.

At least the bar atmosphere was relaxed. The bartender seemed to know everyone except me. He talked to the handsome man on the end stool as if they had known each other forever. I bit back a scowl. It didn't matter if that was the guy’s regular stool —I disliked him just for being there and especially for daring to smile. He looked relaxed, at home, and he made my discomfort even more obvious.

Glancing up at me, the bartender asked, "What can I get you, miss?" His dark brown eyes were soft and his thick beard couldn’t hide his friendly smile.

"A whiskey, on the rocks." Maybe the ice would keep Grandpa’s drink from being too strong for me.

"Anything else?"

I shook my head, aware I was making the tangles in my hair worse.

"If you change your mind, don't be shy. Name's Andrew," he said.

"Thanks, Andrew," I mumbled, feeling his friend's electric blue eyes on me again.

The bartender moved away and left me with an open view of my reflection in the mirror. I ran my fingers through my hair and yanked out the low ponytail that had done nothing to help.

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