“Whiskey neat.”
Andrew nods,
grabs the bottle,
pours,
seeming unbothered.
A chill creeps under my skin at how easily he can play this cool.
I shift on my heel, heart ticking louder in my ears as he pushes the drink across the bar to Raymond.
Then finally, his eyes find mine.
He leans in. “And what about for you?”
His voice strokes my pulse.
My body lights up,
a rush of heat through my veins.
As if my body recognizes it,
all my blood trying to escape me torunto it.
I’m staring back at him,
fisting my dress at my thigh.
My heart’s a runaway train?—
off-track, wild, barreling straight for him,
speeding faster with every second his eyes are on me, waiting for me to answer.
And all I can think is?—
where the fuck ismy answer?
He’s been dangling it over me all week.
One text short of mercy.
And right when I open my mouth?—
“She don’t drink at events,” Raymond cuts in.
“Club soda’ll do.”
My mouth’s still open.
But the words freeze behind my teeth.
Andrew’s eyes don’t leave me.
He taps the bar like it’s keeping him from jumping over it.
