Chapter Two

For a brief moment, Gen questioned whether he had actually heard her. Yet, he kept sipping his whiskey slowly and deliberately, the occasional drag from his cigarette punctuating the quiet. The atmosphere around them was thick with smoke and the low hum of the bar’s late-night crowd, their voices blending into a distant murmur.

“Look,” Gen pressed on, her voice steady despite the tension. “You don’t need to drive me home. Just walk me out of the bar. It’s not like I need to record our little session or anything.”

He raised an eyebrow, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And how exactly do you expect them to believe you?”

Gen folded her arms, leaning slightly on the bar. “They’ll take my word for it.”

He snorted, a sound half amusement, half disbelief. “Yeah, right. Like I said, you’re terrible at poker.”

“Fine,” she challenged, “then tell me your go-to move for getting girls into bed, and I’ll tell them that.”

“Trade secrets,” he replied smoothly.

Gen tapped her nails against the worn wood of the bar, thinking quickly. “How about this: give me your phone number. If anyone calls to check, you can vouch for me.”

“And if they ask about my performance?” he countered, a teasing glint in his eyes.

She was ready with a sharp comeback when his gaze finally locked with hers. Suddenly, every thought she had scattered like a train derailing in midair—twisting, crashing, and tumbling into the depths below. His golden hazel eyes shimmered with flecks of color and a weight of unspoken emotions, their whites tinged red and glossy as if rimmed with unshed tears. There was a haunting beauty in them that caught her off guard. A thick, dark brow lifted, paired with a subtle curl at the corner of his mouth.

“I…” she stumbled, her mind scrambling to catch up. “I’ll keep it vague. Don’t worry.”

“Vague? So little faith in a stranger?” His voice was smooth, honeyed, with a faint Italian lilt.

“I’m sure you’re very…” She searched for the right word, watching his amused expression deepen. “Talented. I’m just trying to save face without losing my dignity.”

He chuckled softly. “I can promise you, a night with me won’t ruin your dignity. In fact, it might just make your friends over there jealous.”

Gen crossed her arms again, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one picking you up?”

He shook his head slowly. “I suppose so. Would you rather I play hard to get?”

“That would make things more interesting.”

“So you like the chase?”

“It’s definitely more thrilling.”

“Can’t argue with that. If I hadn’t had such a terrible day, I’d probably have spent the whole night trying to take you home… bet or no bet.”

“Flattery, huh?”

“Honesty is the best policy.”

She leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper. Her fingers traced the buttons of his crisp white shirt, brushing lightly against his arm as she spoke into his ear. “I don’t like to lose, especially not to trampy blondes who think they can outsmart a man sitting alone, brooding at a bar… no matter how sinfully handsome he is.”

His muscles tensed under his dress pants as he watched her fingers slide down his shirt to rest on the bar. Gen took the cigarette from between his fingers, inhaled deeply, then stubbed it out in the ashtray before settling back down. He returned his gaze to the empty space he had been staring at before she approached.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?”

Gen tried to place him. She wasn’t much of a TV watcher, and he didn’t give off the vibe of a musician or actor. Maybe a politician? There was something commanding about the way he held himself, even in this dimly lit bar, drowning his obvious pain in alcohol.

“No idea,” she admitted with a casual shrug.

Her movement caused the thin strap of her dress to slip down her arm. Without thinking, he reached out and hooked a finger under it. The heat of his touch on her bare skin made her inhale sharply. His eyes darkened, almost a deeper brown now, as he searched her face. Seeing curiosity instead of fear, he gently slid the strap back into place and turned his gaze forward, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a thumb.

“What if I’m not okay with just walking you out the door?” he asked quietly.

“I…”

“What if I want to do something completely out of character and take you home with me?” His hazel eyes studied her carefully. “Not for a bet, but for my own selfish reasons?”

Gen blamed the alcohol for the sudden warmth flooding her cheeks under his intense look. She never imagined herself as the kind of woman who’d go home with a stranger. Yet, as his eyes continued to roam her face, searching, waiting, she found herself wondering if, just this once, she might be that girl.

Her gaze drifted to his hands, imagining their touch on her bare thigh. She traced the thick bands of muscle on his arms and the strong line of his back beneath the crisp shirt. Did he have a sculpted stomach? Would he be gentle, or would this be a rough, meaningless fling? She shook her head, chiding herself—she hadn’t had that much to drink.

“What exactly are you suggesting? Because I’m not the type to sleep with someone just to win a bet,” she hissed.

He laughed, a deep, genuine sound. “I never said anything about sleeping with you, woman.”

“Then what are you saying?”

He sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion and something darker—an almost palpable sadness. Gen clenched her fists to stop herself from reaching out to comfort him.

“I’ve always had trouble sleeping. Pills don’t help. Alcohol’s a joke. The only thing that works is…”

“Sex?” she interrupted.

He chuckled again, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Companionship.”

“Companionship?” she echoed, skepticism in her voice.

He glanced around the bar, ensuring no one was close enough to overhear. “It helps to have someone beside me.” He took a long sip of his drink, then muttered something about how foolish he was for admitting that out loud.

Her mind raced with conflicting thoughts. Suddenly, none of this felt worth it. She was too drunk; he was too burdened by grief. This could only end in heartache. “Forget it. Thanks anyway.”

Gen turned and took a few steps back toward the table. Her arms crossed tightly as she glared at Mallory, who was theatrically removing all her rings to put Gen’s on. The weight of her mother’s ring against her arm suddenly felt sharp and heavy. Tears welled up, blurring her vision. She threw her head back, cursing herself for landing in this mess. Then, without another word, she spun around and stalked back to the man at the bar.

“Fine,” she muttered, staring at the grimy floor to avoid his intense gaze.

“You’ll go home with me?” he asked softly.

“Just for tonight.”

“What’s your name?”

“Bonnie,” she lied without hesitation.

He chuckled softly. “So, we’re using fake names?”

Her eyes shot up to meet his, and he made a playful gesture toward one of the men standing near the door. “It’s not fake,” he said, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “It’s not!”

“Okay then,” he conceded, a faint smile flickering across his lips. Gen was relieved he didn’t flash a full grin—she was pretty sure it would have melted her right onto the floor. He nodded once, as if making an important decision, then extended his hand. “Call me Matteo.”

“Shall we, Matteo?” she asked, slipping her hand around his forearm.

A flicker of longing passed through his heavy eyes at the sound of his name, but it vanished before she could analyze it. He offered his arm, and she took it. Matteo gave a flirtatious wave over her shoulder to the mortified group of women watching them. Gen glanced back and caught the unmistakable panic on Jada’s face. Then she noticed every other man in the bar preparing to follow them out.

Who was this man?

As Matteo led her through the heavy bar doors and into the sharp, chilly New York night, Gen couldn’t help but wonder just what she had gotten herself into.