“Did you take a photo of me?” a gruff voice said to my left.
I picked up my glass and slowly turned to face the man, not surprised it was Razor. I looked him up and down. “Why would I take a photo of you?” I asked in a condescending tone.
“Give me your phone.”
I shot him a stern look. “Like hell I will.”
His face reddened. “Give. Me. Your. Phone.
I set my glass down. “Fuck you, asshole. But if you’re so damned paranoid, I’ll prove to you I didn’t take your damned photo.”
I opened the phone and started to pull up the photo library, realizing I’d just screwed up again. This was a new phone with a new account. There wouldn’t be any images.
Only there were multiple photos of the girls James had on his phone.
I doubted that was much better. Still, I made a show of lifting my phone and quickly shuffling through the images, hoping he wouldn’t realize what he was looking at. I lowered my phone, put it to sleep, then set in on the bar face down while giving him a patronizing smile. “Happy?” I snapped.
“Then what the fuck were you doin’?”
“Using my camera as a mirror to put on lipstick,” I said, pulling out my tube and showing him. “So, I can look good for big, burly men.” I made an expression of disgust. “But not for assholes like you.”
I turned away from him, pretending I didn’t give a shit that he was towering over me. After a couple of seconds, he said in a softer tone. “Let me buy you a drink to make up for accusing you.”
“Fuck off,” I said, keeping my gaze on the bottles on the wall behind the bar. “I can buy my own drinks.” Then to prove my point, I lifted my glass and took another sip, ignoring the blissful feeling of the smooth fire coating my tongue.
I wasn’t sure what my plan was here. I needed to chill, or I might piss him off and either get kicked out or have the shit beat out of me, a definite possibility given his previous domestic violence charges. Or he might see me as a challenge and hang around to wear me down. I figured it could go either way. But I was counting on the fact that the bartender recognized me as a newcomer, and Razor might appreciate a fresh prospect to screw.
He slid onto the stool next to me and leaned close. “I said I was sorry. You had your phone up. What else was I supposed to think?”
I glanced over at him with a dry look. “What are you, famous? You think I’m paparazzi?
He laughed. “Nothin’ like that.” He flashed a toothy grin. “What can I do? I can’t have a pretty thing like you pissed off at me.”
“Tell you what,” I said. holding my glass from the top between my thumb and index finger. “You can try to convince me you’re not an asshole while I finish my drink, and if you’ve convinced me, then I’ll let you get the next one.”
“Oh, I am an asshole, sweetheart,” he said with a dry laugh. “But I can-not be an asshole to you.”
“Charming,” I sneered, then took another tiny sip, letting the glass stay on my bottom lip long enough for it look like I’d drunk more.
“You haven’t been here before,” he said as he flagged the bartender.
“Are you here twenty-four/seven?” I asked with plenty of attitude. “Otherwise, how could you know?”
“I’m here quite a bit, and I’d definitely remember you.” He grinned. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself.”
I turned slightly to face him. “If this is your way of tryin’ to win me over, it’s not workin’ out for you so far.”
“I thought women liked to talk about themselves.”
I took another sip while I gave him an annoyed glare. When I lowered the glass, I said, “How does asking me to talk about myself win me over? You should be telling me about you.”
The bartender stopped in front of us and waited.
“I’ll have what she’s havin’,” Razor said, not taking his eyes off me.
“She’s havin’ a McClellan, so you might want to rethink that,” the bartender said with a laugh.
Razor’s eyebrows shot up and he made a face. “Then give me my usual.”
