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bar. The rest of the worn, wooden interior looked
like most of the bars on the street. The bartender was a bored
looking guy keeping himself busy drying various shaped glasses. It
was about 8am and there were only a few people in there, all
falling into the ‘still out drinking’ category.
    There were four college guys near the door,
all wearing LSU football shirts, one with his head on the table –
either asleep or passed out – with an upside down wine glass
balanced on his head. My heart sank when one of them whistled at
me. There was no way I was in the mood for dealing with college
guys, much less drunk ones and I secretly hoped Joshua wasn’t one
of them.
    And then I sensed him.
    He was sat in the back, his head bent,
nursing a half full bottle of Budweiser. Despite the bored look the
bartender wore, he hadn’t left the confines of the bar to collect
the half dozen or so empty bottles that surrounded Joshua on the
table.
    As if he sensed me watching him, Joshua
looked up. My breath caught in my throat. If I thought Michael was
gorgeous, it didn’t even begin to compare to this guy. Whereas
Michael looked like he had been sculptured into perfection, Joshua
was gorgeous because of the
slight imperfections. His nose was ever so slightly crooked and he
had a small scar just above his right eyebrow. Even his five
o’clock shadow made him look a little rugged. I pulled my eyes away
from him just long enough to stare at the ceiling and mutter, “I
hate you a tiny little bit right now.”
    When I dropped my gaze back to him, I
discovered he was still looking at me through his long black
eyelashes. His eyes were such a clear blue; it was like staring at
the sky outside. His hair was as dark as his lashes, looking almost
like it had a blue hint to it in the dim light. Stray locks of his
hair that were no longer brushed to the side, were dangling in his
eyes.
    As one of his eyebrows arched up
questioningly, it dawned on me that I was just standing there,
gawking. I tucked my hair nervously behind my ear and hurried over.
“Joshua Walsh?”
    “Who wants to know?” he asked, looking up at
me through hooded eyes.
    “I’m Angel,” I offered. With one look he was
throwing me off balance and it was really disconcerting. I’m not
scared of going up to guys and talking to them, but this one had
the geese back in my stomach.
    “Yes. Yes you are,” he agreed, smiling. He
pointed to the seat opposite.
    I slid into the seat, only just making it
graceful before my legs gave out on me. “No,” I told him, clearing
my throat. “My name is Angel.”
I frowned. “Although I suppose you’re technically
correct.”
    “It may be the beer, but you’re not making
any sense.” He picked up his bottle and used it to point at me,
winking as he did so. “It’s alright though, because you’re
hot.”
    I tucked my hair back behind my ear again,
then, conscious that I had just done that, dropped my hands into my
lap. Of course he noticed and smirked. I took the opportunity to
clear my throat again. “Let me start again. You’re hot.” My eyes
bulged as I realized what I had said. “No, I mean, I’m hot.”
    I froze, mortified. As he started smirking, I
did what any self-respecting woman would do. I let my head drop to
the table with a bang which was sure to leave a red mark. I would
have gladly had the floor open and swallow me whole, even if at
this point, there was a strong possibility there would be something
under there.
    “You know, I’m going to be honest,” he
drawled. I raised my head just enough to look at him. “That’s the
most entertaining pick up line I’ve ever had.”
    My head shot upright as I began furiously
shaking it. “I’m not hitting on you!”
    He leaned forward. “It’s alright,” he told me
in a stage whisper. “Because you’re hot. And so is that accent.
Where are you from?”
    “England,” I admitted, knowing full well my
face was quickly turning an interesting shade of pink. “But I