My pulse spikes.
He walks his fingers over the bar and taps it beside my resting hand. “You were going to think of ways I could help cheer you up tonight. Have you come up with anything?”
“We could get out of here when you finish work.” I’m really doing this. I’m hitting on a barman. And why not? He can always say no.
“For sex?”
His question is so casual my brain stutters.
“It’s a good distraction.” He grazes his fingers over mine.
“You want to have sex with me?” Smooth, Jacob. Smooth. It’s been a while since I’ve chatted up anyone. Hook-up apps get rid of the need for it.
His smile pops dimples in his cheeks. “Definitely.”
I undo the top button of my shirt. “Aren’t I?—?”
“What?”
“Too old?”
He laughs. “How old are you?”
I open my mouth.
He holds his hand up, palm facing me. “Let me guess. Thirty-two?”
“Close.”
“Higher or lower?”
“Higher.”
“Not much higher. Thirty-four.”
I point my finger at the ceiling.
“Thirty-five?” He raises his brows.
“Yes.”
“That’s a good age. Thirty-five is mature and experienced. Men get better with age.”
My pulse races. “Like red wine?”
He hums. “Exactly like red wine.”
I tug my collar away from my neck. Has it got hot in here?
“I get off in an hour.”
“So early?”
“I’ve been on shift since midday when the bar opened. Do me a favour.”
“What?”
“Don’t finish your drinks. I don’t sleep with drunk guys.”
