I make no comment.
When I finish at the computer, she slides the credit card toward me. “Trust me, you may need all the room available on this thing to cover my tab. I may just be getting started.”
“May?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” She raises an eyebrow and sips her cider. She’s definitely getting more playful as the alcohol sinks in.
“How about this?” I pour her a tall glass of water and set it beside the cider. “You drink some water and I’ll take the card. Just in case.”
“Deal.”
I take the card, mainly so I can check out her name. “Sierra. Like the pickup truck?”
She wrinkles her nose, which is all kinds of cute. “Like the mountains.”
I’m about to ask more on that when a blonde woman wearing a sparkly redMaid of Dishonorsash leans across the bar between us. Actually, she’s kind of on top of the bar, and in my face. “Hello. We need a round of shots,” she informs me.
Then she slides back until her feet presumably reconnect with the floor, grinning at me.
“Need” is debatable.
I glance across the room at the bride. She looks fairly stable on her feet, maybe a little glass-eyed, and very happy. Her sash announcesSame Penis Forever.
Beckett and Abby, the server on duty, have already served the group a few rounds of shots and opened four wine-sized bottles of Sea Haven Gold classic cider for them. The dinner menus Abby handed out seem to have been tossed aside.
I ask the blonde, “What can I get for you?”
Her eyes rip off my shirt so violently, I almost hear fabric tearing. “Flaming Orgasms all around, please.” She gives Sierra a girl-to-girl eyebrow wiggle that maybe she thinks is subtle.
“Coming right up,” I tell her.
She sings a “Thank you!” and wanders back to the group. Their laughter is loud and very possibly annoying to the older couple eating ribs by the front window, and I decide to turn up the music a bit more.
As I line up shot glasses on the bar, I feel Sierra watching me. She’s still leaning in. I’m trying not to be cocky about it, but the only reason to linger here isme.
“So, where’s your sash?” I ask her. “I’m dying to know what it says.” I am, actually. She’s the only one of them not wearing one.
She blinks at me like she’s trying very hard to keep a straight face. “More importantly, what’s in a Flaming Orgasm?”
“You know, I’ve been running this bar for most of my adult life, and I have no idea. For all I know, she just made that up.”
Sierra full-on grins as I fill a cocktail shaker with ice. “Well, I’m pretty sure they’ll drink whateveryoumake for them.” Then she bites her lip, like she tried to catch the compliment before it slipped out, but missed.
“Let’s hope so.” I pour Baileys Irish Cream, Kahlúa, and Goldschläger into the cocktail shaker, give it a good shake, then strain the mixture into the little glasses. I slide one in front of her.
“For me?” She seems flattered but tries to cover it by flirting. “You tell me, since you’re the expert ... Is it advisable to accept a Flaming Orgasm from a virtual stranger?”
Our eyes connect and there it is again, that spark.
Followed by a rush of adrenaline, straight to my cock.
“Sometimes those are the best ones,” Jace drawls, strolling up behind her—and startling her again.
I guess she didn’t notice that he just walked in, took one look at the two of us, and sauntered over to the jukebox to put on Rod Stewart’s “Da Ya Think I’m Sexy?”—to fuck with me. A song that I didn’t know he knew existed. Usually, Jace is a hard-rock-only type of guy, with the occasional Bob Marley or classic rock banger thrown in.
Sierra blows out a breath. “Ugh. You, again.” She sounds deeply unimpressed, and I kind of love that she’s giving him grief. His timing is for shit. But Jace is Jace, so he’s unfazed.
He responds with his trademark charming grin. “Me again.” He sticks out his hand. “Jace Crofton. Nice to meet you.”
