“They’re clean,” I tell him. “I’m using them as a visual aid.”
His brow furrows in confusion. “For what?”
I ignore the question and press on. “What do you need to make a French martini?”
He blinks at me, even more puzzled now. “You want me to make you a French Martini?Now?”
I shake my head. “No. I want you to tell me what you’d need to make one.”
“Okay…it’s a pretty simple one—just vodka, raspberry liqueur and pineapple juice.”
“And?”
He hesitates, frowning in thought. “Some recipes use lime juice…”
“What else do youneed?”I ask with a pointed look at the bar top.
Damon follows my glance, letting out a soft laugh. “Well, I’d obviously need a glass to serve it in.” He selects the coupe glass from the array I’ve set out and holds it up. “One of these.”
I nod in approval. “You’re still missing something.”
His face screws up in thought before he finally says, “Ice?” I can tell he wants to add something along the lines of,“Well, duh.”Instead he opts for, “I figured that was kind of a given.”
“So did I,” I say with a shrug. “What about an Old Fashioned?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “What the fuck is this? Has someone complained or something?”
“I’ll explain in a minute. Just answer the question.”
He sighs with obvious annoyance but nevertheless accedes to my request. “Rye whiskey, bitters, a sugar cube, a dash of soda water.”
“And,” I prompt.
He rolls his eyes and selects the rocks glass. “I’d serve it in this with a couple cubes of ice.”
“Thank you. As you’ve just demonstrated, cocktail ingredients are incredibly variable. And even the method of mixing them can change. But there are two constants—a serving glass andice.”
“And your point is…?”
“I’m using metaphor to help you better understand a situation you’re currently having trouble relating to,” I explain. “S&Mand submission aren’t ingredients that can be changed or swapped out. They’re constants. S&M is the ice and submission is the glass. Without them it’d be like drinking a pre-mixed Cosmo out of a solo cup.”
Damon’s face screws up in distaste and I know I’ve chosen the right metaphor; if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past few weeks it’s that he’s a total snob when it comes to pre-mixed drinks, and pre-mixed cocktails in particular. Mixology is a long-time passion and he takes it very seriously.
He rubsa hand over his face, letting out a sigh. “Maybe I don’t want ice in my drink. Maybe I just want a cold beer? And I like my whiskey neat…”
I arch a brow at that. “If you wanted the same thing you’ve been drinking since you were a teenager we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” My mouth curves into a teasing smirk. “And you’d still need a glass for the whiskey.”
Damon throws his arms up, letting out a huff of frustration. “I’m not a submissive. And I’m not being stubborn—it’s just a fact.”
“Okay, I thinkit might be time for another demonstration,” I tell him. Then I gesture behind him to the small stretch of wall between the bar and the door to the staff area. “Stand against that wall for me.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
He rolls his eyes but complies, taking a few steps and then turning so his back is against the wall.
“This is for demonstration purposes only,” I say with a tilt of my lips. “I promise your virtue will remain intact.”
