Levi's Blue: A Sexy Southern Romance Read Online Free

blow me off.”
    “It does, doesn’t it?”
    His voice drops, the tone a little more serious.  “Is it?”
    He stepped closer. One small step, but I can feel it.  I can feel his closeness. 
    My heart thunders along behind my ribs, a bird rapidly beating its wings within the bars of its gilded cage.
    “No, it’s not me blowing you off. I, um, I teach a painting class at the Boyd Center.  Art therapy.  It’s for disabled children and people suffering from PTSD.”
    “So you’re beautiful and kind.  I’m seriously gonna have to up my game.”
    He thinks I’m beautiful?
    “Yes, you will. I’m formidable.  Highly skilled in the ways of society, as you can plainly see from my flawless entrance and stunning speech earlier.”
    “You’ll never hear me complain that you fell at my feet.”
    I smile.  “So do you always torture women this way?” 
    “Maybe. Maybe I’m treating you the way I’d treat any other woman on the planet.” 
    My breath catches. 
    I know he’s joking, but his words— my words from earlier—warm my heart. He listened. He paid attention.
    He.
    Remembered. 
    Most people don’t find me worth remembering at all, but this man…
    For some reason, his casual reference lights up a night sky that only I can see on the often dark and lonely canvas of my mind.
    “I hope it wasn’t a man who told you to do that.  They give terrible advice about women.”
    “God! I hope not, too.  I’ll need a few dozen more drinks if that’s the case.”
    I think of him being duped by a man dressed as a woman and I giggle at how that conversation might go.  “So, does this approach ever work?”
    “Depends on the amount of alcohol on board. Which reminds me, can I get you another drink?”
    I laugh again, feeling lighter than I have in years.  Maybe even thirteen years.
    “As tempting as that sounds, I’d probably better make this my last. I’d hate to embarrass myself tonight. Oh, wait…”
    “Evie. Can I call you Evie?”
    I nod, struck temporarily speechless at the way it sounds when he says my name.  His voice has this hoarse, smoky quality to it.  It’s both exotic and sexy, like sensuous black silk.
    “Evie, you didn’t embarrass yourself. You charmed everyone here. Just like you charmed me.”
    In my response, I try to sound breezy and unaffected, even though my stomach is doing happy somersaults.  “Oh, well, all in a night’s work.”
    Before he can respond, the bartender interrupts, “What can I get for you, sir?”
    “Are you sure you won’t have anything?” the tempting stranger asks.
    “No, but thank you.”
    “A gimlet and a champagne,” he tells the bartender.
    A gimlet and a champagne.
    Two drinks.
    In that one sentence, my hopes plummet.  More than I’d like to admit. 
    He’s with someone. 
    I don’t ask him about it, mainly because I don’t want to know.  This man’s attentions have been nice.
    Very nice.
    But they’re obviously a diversion for him, nothing more.
    It’s never anything more. 
    I’m blind. It’s a turn-off. End of story.
    It didn’t take me long during college to realize that relationships don’t work for me.  Dating a woman with special needs isn’t easy, and most men just aren’t up for the challenge.  I’ve come to accept it, and most of the time I’m okay with my lot in life, with the prospect of being alone.
    But every now and then, it stings.
    Like now .
    I don’t want to know who this man is with because I don’t want to have to picture a beautiful sighted woman on his arm. I don’t want to have to picture what he might look like when he smiles down at her.  I don’t want to imagine what it sounds like when he says her name in that smoky voice of his.
    But, maybe most of all, I don’t want to have to acknowledge that he’s been interacting with me out of pity.  Throwing the blind girl a bone.
    So I don’t.
    I don’t ask. I don’t imagine.  I don’t think.
    I have to take this for what it was, nothing