Page 15 of Bratva Bastard

Yet, here we sat, asking how the other had been.

After the light chit-chat, she headed to the bar to fix me a drink, returning with something colorful that tasted fruity. When I first looked at the light blue contents, I cocked an eyebrow.That’s what she thought of me?I held back a laugh to ask, “What is it?”

“Just taste it before you judge. It may look like a ‘fruity girly drink,’” she quoted with her fingers, “but it tastes delicious, and is guaranteed to knock you off your ass.”

She gave me a wink, waiting for me to take a sip. But I had to admit, it tasted pretty damn good. Much better than the usual shit I drank. Being a Bratva man, it’s expected to drink vodka, bourbon, rum. Alcohol that’s brown or tastes like ass. No way would I ever admit that I preferred the fruity shit I’d so often made fun of.

“So, what do you think?” she asked, taking a seat in the chair beside me. Her dark brown eyes were watching me, waiting for my verdict.

I nodded, the obvious response. “It’s better than I thought it’d be,” I admitted. “Will this really knock me off my ass? I have pretty high tolerance.”

Crissy tilted her head back and laughed. “I took down a giant with that drink. After only three, he was stumbling to his hotel room. Ended up asleep on the lawn, if I remember correctly.”

“Oh, then I’ll be on the floor after this one,” I teased. “Hope you can pick me up, because you’re the one carrying me to my room.”

“On the first date? Please. I’m not that kind of girl.” She giggled, waving me away, a smile plastered to her face.

I faked being insulted, scoffing playfully. “Just what are you implying Ms. Diaz?” I asked, glancing at her nametag. “What makes you think I’m that kind of man?”

“Ha!” she laughed sarcastically. “The blonde hanging on your arm at the wedding says otherwise.”

Touchee.“I’ll have you knowshehit onme.Besides, we didn’t even hook up.”

“Oh, well that changes everything.” She shook her head, a clever smirk on her gorgeous lips.

We spent most of the night talking, aside from the occasional customer she tended to. Crissy was a breath of fresh air, unlike any of the typical women I’d been with. She was so cool, with such a sunny disposition. But that didn’t mean she was a pushover—she could dish it out as well as the rest of us, and gave me my fair share of roasts that night. But it only made me want her more.

The night was nearing its end, and I’d yet to ask her about the man at the airport. I couldn’t leave without asking. Something inside my gut wouldn’t let me.

“When we were at the airport, I saw you with a man and woman. Was that your mother?”

Her body tensed up as she wiped the table for closing. “Yeah, that was my mother.”

“And the guy?” I asked, hoping she would’ve just answered and not made me ask. “Was he your boyfriend?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, not meeting my gaze.

The conversation came to a halt after that, and when she cashed out for closing, I bid her goodnight. But when I got to the elevator, my finger hovered over the button, unwilling to push it just yet.

How often was it that I met a woman so vibrant and interesting? Someone who didn’t put up with a man’s shit or lame pick-ups. Walking away now felt like the worst decision I could’ve made. My heart tugged in different directions—one warning me of the dangerous waters I’d be treading if I walked back to that bar, the other demanding I go see the woman who’d entranced me, stolen my attention, and made me lose every ounce of self-control I held.

I briskly walked back to the bar. Crissy was behind the counter, hunched down taking inventory.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” I blurted out, startling her.

Her head popped up over the counter, and she stood up, a confused expression. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve really enjoyed talking with you, both on the plane and tonight. Please, join me for dinner tomorrow night.”

Her shoulders slumped, and she looked down to the floor. The room was dimmer than before, with half the lights shut off. “I…can’t. I have a boyfriend.”

I heard the words, but her tone was less than convincing. Did she evenwantto be with that guy? The way she acted about him, I couldn’t honestly believe she loved him.

“Do you love him?”

She simply stared at me, neither confirming nor denying my question.

I shook my head, disappointed in her reaction—or should I say, lack of. “Whatever,” I grumbled, turning away. “I’ll leave you to your boyfriend.” The words weren’t spat with hatred, but were by no means filled with glee. They held a despair—the same despair that had claimed my heart from her rejection.

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