She slides onto the barstool, close enough that her knee brushes mine before she tucks it back. I feel that stupid little touch straight through denim.
“Place is cute,” she says, looking around, eyes catching on the garland, the twinkle lights. “Very Hallmark.”
I huff. “They do it up every year. Owner’s wife is obsessed with Christmas.”
“That tracks.” She smiles at the bartender when he comes over. “Hi. Can I get… um…” She glances at the chalkboard of holiday specials. “A cranberry mule?”
“Coming right up. And you?”
“Coors is fine.”
She turns back to me, clearly attempting to make small talk. “So, are you more of a beer guy or a whiskey guy?”
“Both,” I say. “Depends on the day.”
“And what’s today?”
I let my eyes drag over her slowly because I can’t seem to fucking help it. The gloss on her mouth is red, shiny, and looks like it might taste good too. Her collarbone is exposed, and her sweater dips just enough that I don’t have to stare to see a sliver of her cleavage. I can practically see the nervous energy buzzing off her like static.
“Today’s a ‘start with beer’ day,” I say finally, lifting my bottle. “We’ll see how it goes.”
She laughs, shoulders loosening. “Okay, good. I was worried this would be… weird.”
“Why?”
“I dunno.” She shrugs, her eyes quickly diverting away from mine.
Because you know I can’t stop thinking about fucking you? My little sister’s best friend?
“It’s certainly not my typical Friday night.”
Her eyes snap back to mine. “No? What would be your typical Friday night?”
I shrug and take a swallow. “Couch. TV. Falling asleep too early.”
“Wow. Wild man.” She grins, nervous and adorable and trying so damn hard to look casual. “Well, sorry to ruin your geriatric plans.”
“You didn’t ruin anything.”
Her drink arrives. She curls her hands around the copper mug like it’s a steaming mug of coffee. Her fingers are small, her deep-red nails clearly shaped and painted by a professional. She takes a sip, closing her eyes for a second.
“Okay, that’s good. Very festive.” She pushes it toward me. “Want to taste?”
My cock twitches like she was talking to it directly.Do I want to taste? No, I want the whole damn thing, baby, till it’s dripping down my chin.
I clear my throat, trying to get my head out of her damn panties where it has no business belonging. “I’m good. Thanks, though.”
She makes a face, her eyes roaming over me suspiciously. “You look… not like you just came from a jobsite.”
“Yeah?” I glance down at myself. Instead of my usual Henley with a flannel, I opted for a nice sweater. I even wore my non-torn jeans and my good boots. “That’s because I wasn’t at a job.”
“Well, you look nice.”
“Thank you.” I take another drink from my beer, dragging my eyes down her body. “You look like you planned to owe me that drink.”
Color rushes up her neck, but she holds my gaze. “Maybe I did.”
That right there—that’s what gets me. The way she says it. Brave on the surface, tiny tremor underneath. I like it. I saw it in her apartment the other night. Now I can see it sitting on this barstool in her red lip gloss.
