Page 159 of One Night Only
I reply to both and open my camera to check my reflection. Makeup not smudged, hair shiny from one of Claire’s moisture sprays. There’s a pimple on the side of my nose but I can’t do anything about that and at least there are no boogers that would require some stealthy—
“Here you go.”
I jump as Declan sets a very tall, very pink drink in front of me. It’s almost luminous in its brightness, garnished with slices of strawberries and sugar crystals along the rim. A paper umbrella is slotted between large cubes of ice.
It looks ridiculous.
I stare at it in confusion. “What is this?”
“Your punishment.”
I lift my eyes to his, not reading anything from him. “I asked for whiskey.”
“There’s whiskey in it. A few drops of it at least. As well as pears, whipped cream, elderflower, maple syrup—”
“Okay,” I interrupt, my stomach protesting at the description alone. I put my phone back in my pocket. “You want me to drink this?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will.”
He waits.
Okay.
Okay!
Shit.
I look between the drink and him. He’s not joking. Nor is he exaggerating. This is my punishment. He raises a brow when I don’t do anything, almost mocking.
“Sláinte,” I mutter, a little too sarcastically and raise it to my lips. Just the smell of it has me gagging.
You can do this Sarah. Show the man you care.
Show him you… Oh God. The first taste on my tongue is like someone poured a cup of sugar into my mouth.
I fight the urge to spit it all over the counter, hold my breath and start to chug. I keep my eyes on Declan as I do, watching him watch me. He doesn’t so much as blink.
A few horrible seconds later, I set the glass down, the whipped cream clinging to the sides of the glass where it’s not all over my face.
When I know I’m not going to immediately throw it back up, I look at him as if to ask,Am I forgiven now? Can we talk?
Declan crosses his arms, unimpressed. “That will be seventeen dollars.”
I glare at him but before I can argue he walks off, disappearing to the other end of the bar to take someone’s order.
I catch the eye of a woman beside me. “Is this some kind of kink thing?” she asks.
I slide gingerly off the stool, swallowing a hiccup. The waitress eyes me curiously as I pass her a twenty and push through the people behind me, heading to the restroom.
My teeth are tingling. I spit out the taste in the sink and wipe the remnants of the cream off my mouth and somehow my nose.
Okay, so he’s mad at me.
Or maybe it is a kink thing and this his way of welcoming me to his world.
Or he’s mad.
