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“I’m good right here. I’m sure anyone else would be willing to help you.”
“But I want you.”
Her glass rattles on the table in front of her, likely more unsteady than planned. “Thanks, but I’m not very thirsty.”
I’ve seen you refill that same glass all night, pretty girl. Can’t pull a fast one on me.
“Good, because it’ll only require a small sip. Nowhere near enough to quench your thirst,” I reassure her, taking the moment into my own hands and sliding her chair back.
As expected, her pretty little ass stays firmly planted.
“What the hell are you doing, August? Let go of my chair.”
I chuckle, enjoying the scene she causes around us. But no one says anything.
Smart of them.
“What does it look like? I’m bringing you to the bar myself.”
“I’m not getting out of this chair. Leave. Me. Alone.”
Leaning to reach her ear once more, my voice carries just over a whisper, “Suit yourself, sweet cheeks.” And like the fucking animal I am, I wrap my arms around the chair with Tenley included, lift them in the air and carry her sassy ass where I want her.
Specifically, to the bar to be my taste tester.
“August motherfucking Graves. You put me down this instant.” She kicks and squirms, but where does she think she’s gonna go? Tenley is four feet off the ground with no other option but to sit there and deal with it.
“Should have just complied the first time. I can only be so nice.” I know my nonchalance gets to her. It’s when I finally make it to the bar and set the chair down that she darts up, finger with the prettiest teal polish pointed at my face.
“You think you can just do with me what you want, don’t you?”
She’s seething. I actually worry she might punch me. Not sure I’d stop her. I, however, can’t help the smile stretching painfully wide across my face. “Maybe,” I tell her, chuckling under my breath.
“You. Are. Infuriating,” she bellows, and I have yet to be convinced she’s actually angry.
“Yeah. I’ve been told that a time or two.”
Tenley stomps her feet, finally realizing one small thing. “And since when do you make drinks? What are you, giving up the beloved game to be a bartender?”
I knew she was smart.
“Not exactly.” I refuse to give her the answer she wants. “I’ve always wanted to make a mean old-fashioned. No better time than now.”
Her clapping thrills me. She’s carelessly mocking my new hobby, and I find it sexy as hell. “Congratulations. That’s what they make cocktail books for. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
I’m not letting her get away without giving me a sliver of her attention.
My hand reaches out to grasp her bicep, carefully signaling her body to freeze. Without wavering or changing my direction, I tell her, “Just one taste.”
Suddenly, nothing else exists in this bar. Nothing other than the mere inches between Tenley and me. The distance I’d pay good money to vanish into thin air.
“Of what?” she draws out carefully. Her voice is low. Like she’s challenging me. But I choose to take it as acceptance. “A taste of what?”
“Bourbon.” My heart pounds rapidly. “You like it, right?” I ask her, nodding to the bottle of Woodford Reserve she’s been drinking all night.
“I…I guess I can try just a taste.”
“Beautiful.” Before she can change her mind, I hoist her on the bar top and spin to start my task.
