A pair of fingers snap in front of my face and pull me back to the task at hand, running FU-Bar. “Earth to Gunner,” Nixon says and holds up his empty glass. “Care to refill this so I can keep my buzz or do I need to go hit on her just to get your attention?”

I glare at him as I snag the glass from his hand and pull down the tap. “A man can look.”

“Mentally you were already in bed with her.”

“Fuck off.”

I might forget to slant the glass so his beer has a huge foam head as payback. But he’s right. I was thinking that. I still am. And it would be a great goddamn place to be.

Besides, when was the last time someone caught my eye as much as she has?

“Here.” I slide the foamy beer back toward his usual seat to the right of me at the bar, my grin a solid fuck you back at him when he notices my pour.

“Bastard.”

“I think you meant to say thank you,” I joke.

“It’s okay to have impure thoughts,” he says in his holier-than-thou voice.

“Impure is an understate—” The words die on my lips when I turn back to look for Snug Sweater and find her taking a seat right in front of me. She looks up, and I’m met with a pair of the biggest, bluest eyes framed by thick lashes that I’ve ever seen.

She’s even prettier up close.

What’s worse? When she smiles, her entire face lights up, and the emotion in her eyes dances unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.

She’s stunning. Her eyes are too big for her face and her lips are fuller than average to offset a button nose . . . but Jesus, it works somehow in the best of ways.

“Hi.” She offers me a confident smile that both unnerves, and sends a thrill shooting down my spine.

“Heels?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a Wednesday night. Most women don’t wear heels in these parts unless it’s Friday or Saturday, so either you’re looking for a man for the night or you’re here for business,” I say, flirting and offering a warm smile.

“And what business is it of yours if I am, in fact, looking for a man?” She lifts her brows.

“Maybe I’m applying for the job.”

Her smile cracks, and Jesus fucking Christ, I’m stunned. Something about her smile brings so much warmth to her eyes and an approachability that . . .

“Maybe I’m turning you down.” Her eyes flutter up to meet mine, and they don’t match a thing her words are saying.

I thump a fist to my chest. “I’m wounded.”

“You should be. I’m a good catch.”