Page 32 of Rookie Season
“Sierra.” His mouth started at my ear. A groan that traveled to my jaw, my throat, my collarbone.
“Yes.”
It was supposed to be an answer to him saying my name.
It was an answer to something else.
Yes, you feel so good.
Yes, this is a terrible idea.
Yes, keep fucking going.
When we knocked the jar of cherries off the shelf, the glass banging on the floor and nearly shattering brought me back to reality.
Ryan tried to stick around, but I shoved him out the door faster than you could say “holiday hookup.”
When I made it back out to the bar, I managed to avoid him for the better part of an hour until one time I looked up and he was gone.
It was over. A thrilling, if embarrassing, slipup that I will absolutely replay one night with my hand between my thighs when I’m horny and have zero shame.
Now, I’m tired. Maybe I’m coming down with something. I press a hand to my forehead. Not hot. Need to sleep more.
I finish wiping down the tables Jenny didn’t get to, my hips swaying to the music. Then I return to the bar, taking my time.
I play around with a few cocktails. There’s nothing I need to be home for. I take out the cherries, wanting to make something that’s not so basic and cliché.
A few moments later, I have it. I take a sip. It’s good but not quite right.
It needs a name.
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve made three new drinks. They’re lined up in front of me, and I lean on the bar as I taste one after another.
Better.
Another sip of each to be sure.
A sound outside makes me jump. I didn’t lock the door.
I trip a little as I round the bar. I guess I’ve had a couple of drinks, which sneaks up on you when you’re taste-testing.
A man is on the other side of the door. I screech before recognizing his face and pulling the door open.
“Ryan?!”
His frame fills the doorway, snow covering his dark, curly hair. Shadows fall across his face. I step back to let him in, and he follows, stomping the snow off his shoes.
“I thought you left with those women.” I reach past him to pull the door closed, locking it.
He’s big and warm, and I’m suddenly aware of his presence and what almost went down in the back room.
He shakes his head. “I could’ve given them a cardboard cutout of me and they wouldn’t have known the difference.”
I laugh and head back to the bar. “What can I do for you?”
“Just wanted to let you know you might have a hard time getting out of here, see if you need a ride.”
His thoughtfulness is touching, but I’m not about to believe he left and then came all the way back to check on me.
