Page 8 of Just My Luck

“What’s on that beautiful mind of yours?” Maxwell asked, bringing me back to reality. He was turned slightly in the seat, facing me. “Everything okay?”

“Mmhmm. I’m fine,” I smiled. “My mind just drifted for a–”

“Here are the drinks you ordered, Max,” a waitress beamed ear to ear.

She was petite, had blonde hair, blue eyes, and super pretty. The top of her uniform was low cut, tight, and made her breasts look like a million bucks. She was a walking wet dream.

Lovely,I muttered lowering my eyes to the table.

“Thanks for the drinks,” Maxwell replied. “You can just put them on the table. We were in the middle of talking.”

My head whipped up in Maxwell’s direction. When our eyes met he smiled.

“Now, where were we?” he asked me.

The waitress seemed just as shocked as me. Her mouth gaped open as though she was going to say something; however, she said nothing. She eyed me with a look that could kill, set the drinks down, and scurried off.

“I think you upset her,” I whispered.

“Don’t care,” Maxwell shrugged nonchalantly.

“Probably could have gotten her number,” I said sheepishly, lowering my eyes to the drinks in front of me.

“Don’t want her number,” he chuckled, sliding a shot in front of me and picking up one for himself. “Shall we toast?”

I picked up the shot and turned towards him.

“What are we toasting to?” I asked.

“New friends?”

CHAPTER SIX

MAXWELL

The wordfriendscame out before it even registered in my mind and the moment it did, I cringed. Friends? That was the last thing I wanted from Elaina. A guy couldn’t be justfriendswith a woman like Elaina, at least not a straight guy. She’d haunt his dreams and torture him any time she was with another man.

Fucking friends,I grumbled internally.

“Friends?” Elaina giggled.

“Sorry. That was cheesy,” I groaned.

“It was cute,” she smiled and held up her glass. “To friends.”

“Sláinte,” I announced.

“Ah. Keeping it festive,” she giggled. “Sláinte.”

We clinked our glasses together then down the hatch the liquid gold went. Elaina grimaced and set her empty glass down.

“Not a fan of whiskey?” I laughed.

“No, not usually.”

“Guess I’ll do the next round solo,” I smiled.

“Not a chance, Sir,” she replied, pushing a shot in front of me and picking up a shot of her own. “Sláinte.”

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