“Selfishly, I’m having fun talking to you.” He dips his chin in the direction of my half-full glass. “Have a seat. Can I buy you another to make up for it?”

It’s my turn to move my gaze over him. Now that he’s standing—and now that my anger has simmered a bit, I can see that he is, indeed, tall. Almost a head taller than me. He’s thin but not lanky, and he fills out the Henley nicely. The glasses suit his face, but I find myself wondering what he might look like without them. If he always wears them, or if he wears contacts sometimes. As he waits for my response, he tilts his torso forward slightly, but his grin doesn’t falter.

He knows I’m ogling. That much is sure from the look on his face.

“Sure,” I say as I slide into the seat. “It’s only fair, I suppose.”

“What are you drinking?” he asks as he leans closer to the bar. The movement causes his chest to brush against my shoulder, and the scent of him overpowers the smell of wheaty beer wafting up from my shirt. It’s sweet—vanilla and almond. Like paper.

I idly twist my glass on top of the bar. “312.”

“A Chicago staple,” he responds approvingly. “You’re from here?”

“Midwestern.” I shrug.

He rolls his lips between his teeth and narrows his eyes at me. The proximity of his body is making my own tingle. If I had to guess based on the fact that he hasn’t moved away, he’s feeling the same.

“You’re going to make me work for information about you, aren’t you?” he asks after the bartender takes our orders. “That’s fine. I like a challenge.”

The way he leans in and his voice drops an octave has my toes curling. I hadn’t intended to make him work for anything, but now I can’t think of a single thing I want more than to drag this out as long as possible.

“Take a guess,” I tease as the bartender deposits our drinks. “I’ll tell you if you’re right.”

“Hmm,” he hums as he sips his beer. He makes a big show of studying me again, as if he hasn’t been doing so this whole time. “Okay. You like words. You’re out with friends, but if we’re both avoiding the dance floor, this probably isn’t your first choice for a Friday-night activity. Being Midwestern is interesting but probably not relevant. You’re drinking beer and not something fruity, and your apparel would suggest you don’t put much stock into your appearance—”

“Hey!” I interject.