Page 6 of The Jilted Lovers Club
“You haven’t had a Manhattan until you’ve had one of Griffin’s,” he says, and I feel his presence as he slides onto the bar stool next to me.
“I live near Manhattan,” I say, unable to keep from looking at him. God, he’s beautiful. “I doubt anyone in California knows how to make a decent one.”
Ashton just laughs, offering awe’ll seeraise of his eyebrows. “I see you survived the protest.”
Clenching my hand on my thigh, I’m tempted to say,no thanks to you. But immediately bite back the words. Just because he saved me from falling doesn’t mean he owes me loyalty. I’m the outsider here, and it’s apparent I won’t be making any friends.
Not the goal, I remind myself.
“Survived, yes. Welcomed, hardly.”
Before I can go into detail, Griffin places a Manhattan on the bar, along with the tab, but I wave that off.
“A menu, please?” I remind him, pushing the tab back in his direction.
“The kitchen’s backed up,” the bartender says, pushing the tab back towards me.
“And I can wait,” I say, pushing it back again.
“Come on, Griff. Just take her order, and then get her another Manhattan while you’re at it.”
“I haven’t even touched this one,” I point out, as Griffin finally takes the tab and heads off—hopefully—in search of a menu. Ashton nods at the drink.
“Trust me, that one won’t last long once you try a sip.”
I give him side eye. Then, just to prove him wrong, I lift the glass to my lips and taste the goddamn drink. And maybe it’s because I haven’t consumed anything since the flight, but holy hell, it’s delicious. Smoky and sweet, the perfect splash of vermouth, a hint of spice, and two shiny black cherries, of which I take one in my mouth and enjoy a small burst of brightness. It’s a bit stronger than I’m used to, but Ashton’s right. Within ten minutes, the glass is empty.
Two Manhattans later and a third one in front of me, I still haven’t seen a menu. But I cannot stop laughing as Ashton recalls last weekend’s beer fest to everyone around us, including the moment when the town mayor disrobed and fell in the river.
“Seems he started a trend, because soon the entire festival became a sort of nudist revival, everyone drinking beer and splashing their bits in the river.”
“I was there,” one of the guys calls out.
“I thought that was you. I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.” Ashton shoots me a side grin as the room erupts in laughter.
And me? I’m seeing double, but happy about it. For the first time today, I don’t feel the weight of the town’s wary eyes on me. I feel included, and that’s a good feeling. I mean, not that I care what this town thinks of me, not like they even matter. But this is a whole hell of a lot better than being rejected.
“Another Manhattan?” Ashton asks, pushing my glass at me. I shake my head.
“I’m a two-drink minimum girl. One more, and I’m bound to be dancing on this bar top, and maybe even recreating last week’s beer fest.”
To this, Ashton throws his head back and laughs. It’s deep and rumbly, and goes straight through me in delicious ways. I distract myself by taking another sip, then flag down Griffin, who actually smiles as he approached me.
“Griff, darling. Could youpleeeeaseget me that menu. I’m starving, and these damn cherries are delicious, but they don’t make a meal.”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.”
The pet name sounds strange coming from a man who wouldn’t serve me just a half hour ago, but I overlook it as he finally places a menu, plus a fourth Manhattan, in front of me. The words seem to wave like a flag, but I finally make out a cheeseburger with fries. I don’t eat bread, and I definitely don’t eat fried potatoes, but both sounded absolutely divine. And maybe the carbs can sop up some of this alcohol so that the room will stop spinning.
“They’re good, right? Maybe the best you’ve ever had?” Ashton said as he nods at the Manhattan.
“They’re all right,” I lie, picking it up to give it another sip. I’m not about to give him the satisfaction of knowing they’re at least on par with the OG Manhattans. Even as a native Californian, my loyalty feels tied to my New York home. This Manhattan could be a hundred times better than the ones in the City, but I’d never tell him.
“So, do you have a shift on the picket line?” I ask, then lift my chin to eat another one of the cherries. But when I tilt my head back, I lose my balance and nearly fall off my stool. Ashton grabs me by the elbow, and I try to right myself, but the whole room isswirling and I end up leaning my full body weight against him. When I look up, I see the humor has left his expression, a look of concern replacing it. Or at least, I think that’s what I see. It’s hard to focus with all this noise, my intense hunger, and the fuzziness in my brain.
“I don’t picket. I have too much work on the farm to do,” he says, once I’m seated again. “Hey, let’s get you some water, all right?” He waves down Griffin. “Water, bro?”
“I’m out of glasses,” the bartender says. “I’ll just go in the back and—”
