“Oh, I serve, baby,” He said before biting on his bottom lip. “Only when I want to though.”
We weren’t talking about the bar anymore. That was made very clear by his eye contact.
I mumbled. “Mmhmm.So,” I propped my head up on the palm of my hand, my elbow digging into the island. “What are you making me?”
“A classic,” he paused and poured simple syrup into the glass. “A whiskey sour.”
“What if I don’t like it?”
“You gone drink it anyway,” he smiled, laughing a little. “Because you need a drink.”
I sucked my teeth. “No, I don’t.”
“Yes you do. You always need a drink when you’re with me. Shy ass.”
“I’m not shy.”
“Yes you are,” he dropped a cherry into it and pushed the glass across the island toward me. “You act like it. Can barely stay still.”
I really wasn’t shy. Hadn’t been shy since I was a child. It was him. He made me nervous. He made me feel things I’d never felt before. Like tingles for no reason. My heart raced when I was with him. My hands grew clammy. I wasn’t Mahogany. I didn’t know who I was with him and it drove me a little crazy. I’d just had a couple of drinks at the bar and here I was again, needing another one. Why? Why did I need another fucking drink just to interact with him? We interacted. We interacted often. I should be past this stage by now, but I wasn’t and I found that very crazy.
“Whatever,” I said before picking the drink up, taking a sip.
It wasn’t bad. Not my usual. A little sweet, but I’d have it again. Especially if it was made by him. I looked up at him, with the sleeves to his buttoned-up top rolled up, tie loosened, in his element, comfortable. He was busy preparing his own drink. Iwondered if he could feel my eyes on him the way I could always feel his on me.
“How is it?” He asked, pulling me out of my trance.
I nodded. “It’s good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, baby,” he said with a smile. “I knew you would like it.”
“You keep calling me baby…” I stated with a giggle.
“Yeah, so?” He looked over at me with a smirk. “Baby. You got a problem with that?”
No.
I didn’t have a problem with it, but I told him I did anyway.
“Yes,” I said with a playful eye roll. “I’m not your baby.”
“Yes you are,” he cockily replied, pouring liquor into his glass. “You just don’t know it yet.”
I just didn’t know it yet. Cute. Crescent was, as always, bold with his flirting. This was why I needed a drink after having three and an edible already. He made me giddy. A little too giddy. My hand found the back of my neck and I looked away, unsure of how to respond to him.
“Plus,” he paused. “You act like a fuckin’ baby. Bratty as hell.”
I drew back. “Iact like a baby? I’m not the one who complained about absolutely nothing and failed to reply to an email. A professional email by the way, after complaining about the progress on a very important project.”
“That wasn’t me acting like a baby,” he paused and tapped around on his phone. A couple of seconds later music emanated from speakers I couldn’t see, playing SZA’s The Weekend. “That was me going after what I wanted.”
I took another sip of my drink. “I guess. Seems pretty babyish to me.”
He took a sip from his drink and shrugged. “I like to look at it as persistence. Dedication… refusing to settle.”
We made eye contact and silence welcomed us. It was intense. So intense that I closed my eyes. I didn’t like his eyes on me tonight. Felt like the question he always asked me was sitting on the tip of his tongue.
How are you?
