“Why do I love my work?” I asked, and he nodded before elaborating,
“Why advertising?” I thought about it for a moment before telling him,
“Truthfully… I have always been good at convincing people to buy things.” He laughed at that before prompting me for more.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, Hell I even won a school competition once because of it,” I said, a small laugh slipping out as an old memory surfaced.
“A competition for selling things?”
“For selling cookies,” I clarified with a small shrug.
“It was one of those school fundraising things. Whoever sold the most won a prize.” His eyes softened at this, as if he could see it for himself.
“And you won.” It wasn’t a question, but regardless, I freely admitted,
“By a terrifying margin.” A quiet chuckle escaped him.
“I suspect you were rather adorable,” Wye murmured thoughtfully, and I glanced up at him with mock offence.
“You don’t think I am adorable now?” I teased, and even as I said it, I lifted my hand slightly, wiggling my fingers in a ridiculous imitation of tiny frog legs.
“Even with my frog collection?” The groan that escaped him was low and dramatic.
“You are making this incredibly difficult.” At that, I pulled back in surprise, about to ask him what he meant when he offered it before I could.
“To sit here and not want to ravish you,”he finished under his breath, and heat instantly rushed to my face.
“Well…” I said, pausing to swallow hard,
“…you’re not exactly making it easy for me to pretend this is a normal first date either.” His eyes darkened slightly with amusement.
“Perhaps that is because it is not.” At that moment the waitress returned, the expensive bottle of whiskey now resting carefully on her tray beside two crystal glasses filled with ice.
Wye poured the drinks himself, and the liquid caught the low light of the club as it settled into the glasses, amber and rich as he handed one to me. I lifted it cautiously and gave the glass a small swirl, the rich aroma drifting up to meet me. The scent alone was enough to make my eyes widen slightly. He then watched me carefully as I took my first sip.
“Oh, wow,” I moaned as the taste was so smooth and in a way that nearly made my eyes roll back into my head.
“That right there is possibly the nicest thing I have ever tasted,” I breathed softly, lowering the glass slightly as warmth spread slowly down my throat, and for a moment, he simply watched me. Then he set his own glass aside, one hand sliding lightly beneath my chin as he turned my face toward him.
Then, before I knew what was happening, he kissed me, only this time it was slower and more sensual. Warmer even. As though he were savoring the moment just as much as the whiskey.
When he finally pulled back, the faintest smirk curved his mouth.
“I must agree,”he hummed, and I swear I felt drunk from that alone. To the point that when he asked me a question, I had to get him to repeat it,
“Huh?” His grin was devious and disarming as he licked his lips before repeating the question,
“Why whiskey?” The memory rose easily, and I was forced to concentrate on something other than the feel of him still on my lips.
“My mother,” I said quietly.
“It was always her drink of choice for special occasions.” I rolled the glass gently between my fingers, watching the amber liquid catch the light.
“Although a single bottle would last her years,” I continued softly.
“But whenever something good happened, she would pour herself a glass and toast to it.”
