The suit looked at me, curiosity carving a crease in his forehead.
“Oh really? Why?”
“Really bad breakup. She was torn up about it for a while. It’s good to see her moving on.” The dumbass had the nerve to look almost giddy. No doubt visions of healing Charlotte with his magic dick running through his head. “The guy was a beast, too. Looked like a fucking linebacker.” I shook my head, imagining Charlotte’s behemoth of an ex. “He didn’t take her leaving him well. Might even have stalked her for a while.”
“God, that’s awful,” said suit dude, clearly reconsidering his life choices.
“He only came in here that one time, but it was enough for me. Thought I was going to have to call the cops.” I turned my back on him so I could run his card, making sure to include Charlotte’s tab from earlier, and hide my grin. Lying was wrong. I knew that, but honestly, if he scared that easily, he didn’t deserve her. He didn’t deserve her regardless, but one problem at a time.
“That’s crazy,” said the dumbass, inching closer to the edge of his stool.
“Yeah. There was that guy early on who looked at her. He ended up in the hospital, but they never found the guy who did it. Probably wasn’t related.” I gave my shoulders awho the fuck knowsshrug and handed the guy his card and the slip to sign.
He snatched the card from my fingers and scrawled his name on the slip. Glancing in the direction of the bathroom, he stood.
“I forgot. I’ve got a thing tonight. Can you let her know I’m sorry and had to run?” He phrased it as a question, but he didn’t bother waiting for my answer. He was across the room and out the door so fast it was like someone was chasing him
I should feel bad. When Charlotte came back and saw the empty stool, I almost did.
“He said he forgot an appointment and had to go.” I watched her for a second, judging her disappointment—not much. She looked more resigned than anything.
“That makes perfect sense,” she said in a voice that made it clear she understood exactly what happened. Well, not exactly. She didn’t know my part of it. “I should close out my tab.”
If I wasn’t careful, she was going to leave anyway. Her going home alone was betterthan her taking the suit home, but it felt like winning the battle to lose the war.
“Dumbass covered it.” I motioned with my head to the empty stool in case she had any doubt who was the dumbass.
“Well, that’s something, I suppose.” She smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes and for a fraction of a second, I almost regretted my actions. Almost.
“Sit down. Let me make you something.” I let the offer hang in the air and waited to see which way she’d turn. Push a woman like Charlotte, and I imagined she’d bolt faster than a mortal man could run. Which meant I’d have to entice her. Seduce her. My favorite thing.
The wrinkle was back in the center of her forehead, and I picked up a bar glass to polish to keep from reaching out to smooth it. I was going to have to take some serious time to debrief when this was over. I didn’t usually have this kind of urge to grope a woman I hadn’t even officially met.
“Please?” I asked, pushing the tiniest bit.
I watched the battle play out on her face and saw the exact moment when things tipped in my favor.
“Show me what you’ve got,” she said, climbing back up onto the barstool.
I fucking loved how small she was next to me. My mind raced ahead to covering her body with mine, cradling her against me, coaxing every bit of pleasure out of her. What I wouldn’t do was underestimate her. That way was carnage littered with the bones of lesser men.
“It would be my pleasure.” I smiled at her, holding her gaze for a fraction of a second longer than normal. Just long enough for her cheeks to flush, a response I felt confident was rare for her.
I grabbed the bottle of my favorite infusion distilled gin from the freezer, along with the jar of giant green queen olives stuffed with blue cheese. I rinsed the inside of an ice-cold martini glass with some of the brine from the olive jar, pouring almost all of it out again. I topped the thin film of brine with a healthy shot, dropped in three fat olives, and finished it with a spray of bitters on the surface of the icy gin. Holding the glass out to her by the stem, I watched her flinch the slightest bit when her fingers touched the cold glass. I’d taken such care to make sure every component of the drink was as close to frozen as possible. I should have set the drink in front of her and let her pick it up by the stem, but I couldn’t resist the urge to get her to take something—anything—from my hand.
She took a sip and her eyes drifted closed in pleasure. I could get addicted to putting that look on her face.
“Oh my God, this is good.” She took another sip and my pulse kicked up a notch, which was a little fucked up. I made drinks for people. I didn’t get off on it. Usually. “There’s something different.” She licked her lips, like she was trying to isolate the taste.
“It’s the bitters. It doesn’t work for the sweet vermouth crowd, but if you like a dry martini, if gives a little bite to the gin.”
“How did you know I wasn’t one of the sweet vermouth crowd?” She threw my words back at me in a way that might have felt mocking if it weren’t for her smile.
“Educated guess. I took a chance.” It was more than that, but if she realized how closely I’d been paying attention to her responses to things, cataloguing her questions and the things she liked, she was far more likely to get creeped out than turned on by my bartending Sherlock impression.
“Were you playing Candy Crush or something else?” She motioned with her head to my phone lying by the register.
I was torn between the realization that she’d noticed what I was doing while she was talking to dumbass and her assumption that I was playing games.
