Page 13 of Wish You Were Mine
I shook off the thought and bit my lip as I glanced back at the bottles, trying to focus on the drink choices instead. Then I spotted a bottle of white rum next to sparkling water, limes, and mint.
“Could you make me a mojito with all this?” I asked, gesturing to the ingredients.
“Of course,” Owen said, moving with confidence as he started to mix my drink. And I couldn’t help but admire how easily he worked, the way his hands effortlessly measured and poured, knowing the right amounts of everything from memory.
He handed me the drink a minute later, and when our fingers brushed, a quick jolt of electricity went up my arm. And when something sparked in his gaze, I wondered if he’d felt it, too.
But instead of searching his dark eyes like I wanted to, I lifted my glass to my lips. The cool, minty lime hit my tongue, refreshing and smooth.
"Is it okay?" he asked after I’d taken my sip.
"It's really good." I nodded. "You clearly know what you're doing."
"Thanks." He chuckled. “Glad my skills aren’t too rusty.”
"So, what are you having?" I asked, hoping to keep the conversation going just a little longer.
"If you’re not planning to drink that pineapple punch," Owen said, grinning playfully, "I’ll take it off your hands so it doesn’t go to waste."
“Not one to throw out a good drink?" I asked, surprised. Most people in Ky's circle would have thought nothing of dumping a drink they didn’t want.
People who had never had to go without didn't always value things the same way as those who had.
Though, the opposite could be true, too, I supposed. Super wealthy people didn’t get that way by being wasteful.
Okay…I was definitely overthinking this.
But after dating a guy who always had everything handedto him—who took everything for granted (including me)—it was hard not to be on guard for the same signs.
“If this punch has what I think it might have in it,” he said, gesturing to the drink I’d set on the counter, “then the going rate for a cup that size would be about twenty dollars.”
“Then by all means, don’t let this liquid gold go to waste.” I chuckled, handing it to him.
When he took the red plastic cup from me, I felt a flutter in my chest at the thought of him drinking from the same cup I’d used.
Sure, it was a small thing, but since we were near strangers, it felt somehow intimate to share a drink.
I watched as he put the drink to his lips and gulped when I realized he hadn’t avoided the slight mark from my lipstick.
The fourteen-year-old version of me would have been over the moon about that fact since it was basically like he was kissing me, right?
“Can you tell if it’s spiked?” I asked, pushing my weird thoughts away.
Did he have some sort of special palate as a bartender?
“Not yet,” he said, his grin widening. “But give me about fifteen minutes, and we’ll see.”
I laughed, feeling strangely at ease with him, despite the way he was making my heart race.
“Shall we go join the others?” He picked up his plate and nodded toward the table in the dining area where Nora and the other guys were sitting with their food.
“Sure,” I said, my cheeks warming.
I followed him to the table, my gaze running over the chairs, hoping to see two seats left by each other. But there weren’t any.
“Here, I saved you a spot,” Nora said when she saw me come up behind her, patting the chair next to her.
So after a quick glance at Owen, I set my food on the table and then slid onto the chair next to my friend.
