I make a break for the bar. Cece is nowhere to be seen, but Krissy comes right over. “Margarita?”
I shake my head. “No time. Double straight, please?”
“Coming right up.”
As Krissy pours me a massive Sierra Blanco, I remember when I was too self-conscious to order straight liquor at a bar, let alone a double. Five months living above Stabbies has taught me you’d have to slur abuse through a brown paper bag to have a bartender care what you order. I accept my drink with a smile and start downing it as Krissy dashes away. If luck’s on my side, the stags might just be in the next bar over. I can’t pull out a deck of cards and resume our game of Waterfall, but there’s a million things?—
“Hey, Ada,” a deep voice says to my right.
I stop chugging long enough to side-eye whoever’s talking to me. The owner of the baritone is Jake Garlic-Haverbee, and I have to crane my neck to make eye contact.Goddamn,is he huge. I’m five-two, and the man could clearly drown me with one finger.
It’s too late to act with anything approaching class, so I empty the last of my drink into my mouth and swallow.
“Sup,” I say as lightly as I can with tequila burning the inside of my neck. “Jake, yeah?”
“That’s it.” He tilts his head at the bar. “Want another one?”
Another would be pushing it, even for me, but he’s approached me. This is an opener, and I’d be a fool to waste it. I need to know where the other stags are, and he is undoubtedly informed of that fact. “Sure.”
He raises a palm, and Krissy materialises out of thin air. “Oh my gosh, Jake Graves-Holland?”
He flashes her a big smile. “Hi. Can I please grab a couple of drinks?”
“Of course you can!”
Jake Graves-Holland, I repeat, as he orders a scotch and a double tequila. The name rings zero bells, but Cece’s right, he’s into me. I’m too old to play the‘Oh, he couldn’t possibly be attracted to me’ game. He’s giving me The Look and buying me a drink. He wants it. Also, I almost banged Viggo Mortensen. I’m not going to waste anyone’s time making out like I’m still an ugly duckling. It’s mypersonalitythat makes me love cyanide, and I very much doubt an All Black approached me on a Friday night because he wants three kids and a white picket fence.
So, how am I going to use this? ‘Woo-Girl bimbo’ hardly seems like Jake Graves-Holland’s style. He probably likes the Snow White thing. Shy. Sweet. Sexy, but she doesn’t know it.Won’t you teach me all about my body, Captain Popular?
“All yours,” Jake Graves-Holland says, handing me the tequila.
Up close, his eyes are storm-grey, and his slightly twisted nose looks Roman. I blame my genetics for my continued lusting after the Romans despite knowingbetter. Though I doubt Jake Graves-Holland is Italian. Odds on, he took a knee to the head during rugby and is too manly to get his face fixed up. The choice speaks to his character and is unfortunately kind of sexy. I wish I didn’t find things like that sexy…
“Thanks,” I whisper. “You didn’t have to buy me a drink.”
He leans in, bathing me in the scent of sharp, peppery cologne. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
I bury my smirk in my drink. Snow White type, indeed. I don’t have to take this too far; a drink and a flirt should be all it takes to get invited to the next stag party locale.
“Thanks,” I repeat in my husky little voice. “That’s so nice.”
Jake smiles so wide you’d think I’d just offered him a wristy. “Wanna take a seat?”
“Sure,” I say, backing my ass into a barstool. “But, I don’t want to keep you from your friends…”
“No stress. How have you been since school?”
I hesitate. Should I pretend that I have no idea who he is? Or acknowledge that Cece pulled the wool from my eyes? I decide to punt.
“Sorry?”
Jake’s tanned forehead creases, making him look all kingly and hot. “We were at Pukekohe High together? Me, and Henry, and pretty much everyone in the stag party?”
“Oh, right! You’re the big rugby player!”
One eyebrow goes up. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
I mentally narrow my eyes at Jake Graves-Holland. He’s smarter than his job would suggest, and he seems to rememberme, which gives him the upper hand. I wonder what he could possibly retain of the shell-shocked, lonely girl I was back then. Probably just my boobs, same as his mates. He was probably there when they were bullying me during study periods. Watching us the way he watched us play Waterfall tonight. Not participating, not helping, just witnessing the destruction.
