With that, she’s off.
“What’s in a French 75?”
I drop my clutch on the bar and use my hand to enumerate each ingredient. “Sparkling wine, gin, lemon juice, and a dash of simple sugar. A lounge like this one would probably use champagne instead of sparkling wine.”
“You have a fancy palate.”
“That’s a bold statement considering you don’t even know me… yet.”
“Let’s remedy that unfortunate situation. I’m Beckham,” he says. “What’s your name?”
“McKenzie.”
He extends a hand, and I shake it.
“Pleased to meet you,” he says.
“Same.”
We hold each other’s gaze for a long beat, and I topple head first into the ocean of endless abyss of gorgeousness that are his eyes. I could float there for an eternity.
The waitress returns with our drinks.
We thank her.
She nods and moves to the other side of the bar.
I take a small sip of my drink.
“Is it to your liking?”
“It is,” I say. “Have you ever had a French 75?”
“Until a few minutes ago, I didn’t even know that was a drink.”
“Do you want to try?”
“If you don’t mind?”
I slide my drink toward him.
“Thank you.” He turns the glass so the imprint of my lipstick faces him.
He lifts the drink and takes a sip by placing his lips over the imprint of mine.
I arch both brows.
Why was that simple act sexual?
He drops the glass on the bar. “It isn’t what I expected.”
I frown. “Oh.”
“What?”
“You’re wearing my lipstick.”
“That was intentional,” he says. “It was my subtle way of touching my lips against yours.” He licks his stained lips.
