“I know we have the day off, but if you’re interested, I thought we could use my bar and practice mixing some drinks.”
A million questions rush through my mind. Is this an excuse to spend time with me? Is that why he’s here? Can he not stop thinking about me like I can’t stop thinking about him?
“Yes.”
Laiken inclines his head. “One rule. You have to wear hard-soled shoes.”
I frown. “Why?” I ask as I turn for my socks.
“I’ve broken glass behind the bar in the past, and while I’m relatively certain the glass is long gone, I don’t want to take any chances. And it could happen again.”
“Your confidence in me is loud,” I deadpan. Socks on, I slip my feet into my sneakers and then bend over, giving Laiken a clear view of my ass in these new shorts.
“Jesus,” he mutters.
Upside down and practically through my legs, I can see the heat in his eyes as he stares. I take my time tying my sneakers so he can ogle the goods for a bit. After a minute, he shakes his head.
“I’ll meet you outside,” he says and leaves, shutting the door behind him.
I’m not sure there’s a better feeling than seeing how much someone is attracted to you. Talk about a confidence boost.
Before leaving my room, I tie the bottom of the oversized shirt at my side in a 1980s style throwback so Laiken gets a clear shot of my ass. I flick my light off on my way out of my bedroom.
Laiken’s outdoor bar is at the end of his house, so it’s not blocking the view out of his windows. However, that means it’s in clear view of our house—every window on the side and from our backyard and deck.
So no sneaking kisses or groping.
The positive is that it’s far enough away that you can’t overhear anyone at the bar. I know. When I was younger, I’d tried to listen to the adults talk through my bedroom window, which just so happens to be facing Laiken’s house.
Have I mentioned that this man is rarely with a shirt on? There’s seriously no wonder I’ve been enthralled with him for years. What guy my own age has his sophistication and distinguished air?
“Are you going to teach me your secret of making magic drinks based on three facts?” I ask as I step behind the bar with him.
Laiken has made a name for himself on Kala as being able to make the perfect drink for you based on three facts about yourself that you give him. Any three facts. I’ve even heard someone give Laiken their shoe size.
The drinks are amazing. Everyone raves about them. I was sitting at the bar once when someone told Laiken their three facts, and when the guy took his sip, he looked at Laiken with shock, telling him that he’d been to Kala five years ago and this was the exact drink that Laiken had made him based on his facts.
He gave the guy shots of everyone’s three-fact drinks for the rest of the night, proving that no one’s drinks were ever the same. It was probably one of the most fascinating moments of my life. I’m partially convinced that Laiken truly does make magic drinks.
“No. That goes with me to the grave.”
“So dramatic. You have to pass down your secret to someone when you retire. That way, your legacy lives on.”
“I’d rather take it with me.”
I step close to him, and his eyes flicker over my head toward my house. “What’s first?”
Laiken licks his lips. His eyes lock with mine, and the air between us heats. I swear, there’s a tingling in my fingers, desperate to touch him.
“Screwdriver,” he says.
“What about a sex on the beach?”
“Lie—”
“Isn’t there a drink called a hairy nipple? I like hairy nipples.”
“Come inside. We need a restock.”
