“Yet another failure,” I mutter.
She pats the empty stool beside her. “Come on. I’m really not so bad.”
“I beg to differ.” I don’t know why I slide onto the stool as she chuckles at my response, but I do. The scotch, probably. Sober me would know this is a bad idea.
Drunk me knows it, too. He just doesn’t give a fuck.
“What are you doing here?” I ask her.
She toys with the cocktail straw in her glass, and I pluck mine out of my glass and start to chew on it.
Her eyes follow my straw, and I glance at her glass. It’s filled with some clear liquid over ice. It’s bubbling, so I’d guess it’s soda, possibly mixed with something since a lime is perched on the edge of the glass.
“Checking the place out,” she says.
“How’d you get in?” I ask. I don’t say the words, but I thought this was a VIP lounge.
She narrows her eyes at my insinuation. “Through the front door. Probably the same way you did.”
I roll my eyes.
“Dex,” she murmurs.
“Of course.”
She opens her mouth to say something else but seems to think better of it. She shakes her head a little. “What about you? What are you doing here?”
“Blowing through way too much cash and drinking the complimentary Lagavulin 16.”
“You’re a scotch guy?” she asks.
I glance over at her. “You know scotch?”
“You don’t grow up with five brothers and not learn a thing or two about single malts.”
“And yet, you’re sipping on a vodka soda,” I say, venturing a guess.
She holds up her glass. “Casamigos.”
“You’re a tequila girl?”
“You seem surprised by that.” She tips the glass to her lips, and I watch enraptured as the liquid moves from the glass to her mouth.
“I am.”
She chuckles. “Why?”
“I guess I associate cheap tequila with college girls and what you’ve got in your glass with trend chasers.” I raise a brow and nod to her glass.
“Trend chasers?” she demands. She shakes her head at the insult. “I drink it because it tastes good, not because I give a fuck about trends.”
“Don’t you? Isn’t part of your entirelife’s workto chase trends?” I point out, using her own words from earlier.
“You’re an asshole. Do you know that?”
“I’m aware. And you resort to insults when you’ve run out of creativity.”
“Well, then I guess we’ve got each other pegged,” she says, and I have the sudden urge to kiss her, to taste that tequila on her tongue. To feel those pretty lips as they move against mine.
