“What on earth is this?” I ask. “It’s amazing.”
“A dirty martini,” the waitress offers. “Extra dirty, actually.”
I sip again, entranced by the unfamiliar mix of favors. It’s salty and sharp with tiny flecks of ice swirling in a gin mixture that smells like juniper berries. “It’s incredible.”
Missy stares at me like I’ve just announced a fondness for Cheetos. “That’s basically the opposite of what you ordered.”
Cassie smirks. “Maybe she ought to try opposites more often.”
I take another sip, considering her words. How did I never realize there was this whole other realm of cocktail possibilities? Savory instead of sweet, salty instead of fruity.
“Is this seriously the first time you’ve tried a dirty martini?” Cassie asks.
I roll my eyes and sip my new drink again. “I’ve never had a dirty martini. I’m an interior designer, not a soil scientist like you.”
It’s Missy’s turn to look perplexed. “I’m not a soil scientist, either, but even I’ve had a dirty martini.”
I sigh and set my drink down, regarding my sisters with exaggerated patience. “I’ve had plenty of martinis, as you well know. Is it really so peculiar that I’ve never tried it dirty?”
“That’s a shame.” A low male voice close to my ear makes me jump, and I turn to see Granite Ass has claimed the seat beside me. Those icy-blue eyes bore into mine, registering some strange combination of amusement and lust with an odd hint of aggression.
What’s that about?
“Sounds like that’s something you ought to remedy,” he murmurs.
The timbre of his voice makes me shiver, and I’m not sure we’re still talking about drinks. I stare at him, at a complete loss for words. He’s even bigger up close, and I wonder how he managed to move from his barstool into my space without me noticing. He’s staring like he can see right through my dress, and the thought doesn’t trouble me as much as it ought to.
I swallow and taste olive brine on the back of my tongue. Somewhere in my brain, my sister’s words echo in my head.
Maybe she ought to try opposites more often.
She’s right, dammit. I’m a thirty-one-year-old single woman whose ex-fiancé’s silk ties are still folded neatly in the dresser drawer where he left them. How the hell did I end up here?
My whole life flickers before my eyes in a grainy, ten- second film. A life filled with wine clubs and yacht parties and impeccably tasteful drapes.
Maybe every life choice I’ve made so far—drinks, dates, everything in between—has been the wrong one. Maybe my instincts are so far off-kilter that the only fix is to do the exact opposite of what my gut tells me to.
These are crazy thoughts to be having in a Portland hipster bar on a random Tuesday evening. My gut roils with a potent brew of gin, adrenaline, and lust, so trusting it right now isn’t an option.
But there’s one thing I do know.
Granite Ass is making more than my taste buds tingle. “Well, then,” I tell him, pausing to lick my lips. “I don’t suppose you’d be the guy to teach me about learning to like it dirty?”
Chapter 2
Dax
Holy fucking shit.
How did I even get here?
One second I’m sitting across the bar from my snotty ex-girlfriend, Kaitlyn, thinking about how badly I’d like to rub her face in my recent career success and the fact that my life is pretty fucking awesome since she walked out.
The next second I’m sidling up next to Kaitlyn and realizing holymotherofhell, this isn’t Kaitlyn at all.
It’s another polished blonde with a dress that spells “money,” a calculating look that spells “trouble,” and a body that spells “sin.”
That’s an awful lot of spelling for a guy who barely finished high school and never went to college. Not that it’s stopped me from busting ass to make something of myself. To go from a grubby kid scrounging for scrap metal in his daddy’s junkyard, to a minimum wage steelworker, to the guy who holds the patent on a double steel-walled beverage container that’s made me filthy fucking rich in the last year.
