“You gonna finish those shots, or…?”
She pretends to glare at me. It’s adorable. We’re basically friends now, so I don’t take it to heart.
“I haven’t decided yet,” she says.
I shrug, then snag one and throw it back.
“Hey!” she shrieks, the most animated I’ve seen her yet, and a number of eyes turn toward us.
I bellow a laugh, waving away the attention when she huffs. Then she grabs the second shot and downs it with a grimace.
“Ah,” she says, clicking her tongue. “That’s not great after whatever this purple monstrosity is.”
“Hey!” It’s my turn to protest with a laugh. “I’ll have you know that so-called monstrosity is my pride and joy creation.”
“Oh, really?” She raises a skeptical eyebrow. “And why is that?”
“Because italmostgot you to smile.”
To my absolute delight, her cheeks turn pink. Of course, it’s accompanied by another scowling glare, but that’s still another win in my book.
Three points to Ro.
“And now I’m winning,” I say, propping my elbow on the bar and my chin in my palm.
I didn’t know I could grin so wide when a look of outraged consternation finally overtakes the lethargic apathy that had been clinging to her. She stares at me and I hold her gaze, not letting my smile falter. Her entire body transforms, the defensive tension shifting to an upright, quiet confidence, her blank expression turning to wary interest as her mind tries to make sense of my words.
“Winningwhat?” she finally demands.
“This, of course.” I gesture between us and confusion mars her stoic facade.
She shakes her head and knocks back the last shot.
“You’re something else,” she mutters under her breath.
I hear it, though I’m not sure if I was supposed to.
“You’ve got that right,” I say with a wink.
Her lips twitch again and she turns her back to me, leaning against the bar as she looks out over the dance floor. I take the opportunity to catch up on orders, thankful I’m not working the bar alone tonight. When I glance back over at her, she’s raising the so-called purple monstrosity to her blood red lips for another sip.
When Alorra swivelsback to the bar again, I’m ready. She seems to debate her next move, glancing from the dance floor to the exit, so I step in before she decides to leave again.
“Can I take you out on a date?” I ask.
She stares at me, her steely gaze holding me hostage. I straighten my shoulders and do my best to present a ‘I’m a good, safe, definitely-not-a-demon-who-wants-to-stalk-you’ facade.
After what must be at least a couple years, she finally speaks.
“Why should I let you?” she says.
I was not prepared for that response. A ‘yes’ would have been fantastic. ‘No’ I can deal with. But this? I gape at her, feeling like a fish out of water as I open my mouth, but no words come out.
She shrugs one shoulder, throws back the rest of her purple drink, then sets the empty glass on the bar and slides off the barstool. Without a backward glance—again—she leaves.
I can’t tear my eyes away from her. Each blink takes her further from me, until she’s out the door and it’s swinging shut behind her.
“Tough luck, man.” Finn claps me on the back as he walks by.
