A reflex.
I stop. But not fast enough.
The flavor explodes on my tongue. Bitter, herbaceous, rich. It's good gin too. Really fucking good.
"Thanks." She brings the glass to her lips. Watches me watch her lipstick mark the glass. "Fuck." She lets out a soft moan. "You're skilled."
"Thanks."
"I might let the dick lipstick thing go. This once."
"It's true."
"It's not."
"'Cause you don't like it?" I should let her go. She's more dangerous than the bottle of gin. I'm already too close—we're pressed together—but I still move closer.
She looks up at me as she takes another sip. "I didn't like it with him."
"So you do like it?" I ask,
She sets her drink on the bar.
I pick it up. Motion to the bottle of gin.
She nods. Watches me fix another.
This time, I don't taste it. I don't covet it. I don't think about how the bitter cocktail will erase the voice in my head screaming you're only going to fuck this up worse.
I just hand it to her. Watch her wrap her lips around the glass, sip, swallow.
Fuck, I can still taste the drink.
That's what's on her lips.
I need to taste her fucking lips.
Now.
"What if I do like it?" Her hand goes to my chest. The same way she touched Patrick. But different. So fucking different.
Her fingers brush my collar. Then my neck.
Fuck. That feels good. Too good.
"Do you?" I ask.
"What would it matter to you?" She runs her fingertip over my collar. "If we can't."
"Luna."
Her fingers brush my neck. "What if I want to like it? What if I'm just waiting for the right guy? Is that what you want to hear?"
"I don't—"
"How about I go to Patrick. Tell him I have a better birthday present for him?"
"Luna."
"You're jealous." She presses her palm into my chest. Pushing me hard.
I hold my ground. "Of course, I'm—"
"You've barely spoken to me all fucking week, Oliver. You promised to comfort me and you ran away. What gives you the right to be jealous?"
"You're doing it on purpose?"
She shrugs. "I'm single. He's single. How is it any of your business?" She takes another sip. Licks her lips. Stares at me, proud, defiant, angry.
Which only makes my cock stir. It loves this side of her as much as I do. I want that proud, defiant woman in my bed, ripping off my jeans when I try to order her out of her dress.
She shakes her head you're fucking ridiculous. Then she finishes her drink, turns, spins on her heel, moves to the door.
She's right.
I'm ridiculous.
I don't have any fucking right to my jealousy.
But I chase her out the door anyway.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Oliver
Even in wedge boots, she's fast. A blur of silver hair and dark fabric.
I run after her. Down the stairs. Past a group of people smoking. Across the residential street.
"Where are you going?" I catch up to her. Reach for her.
She pulls her arm away. "Away."
"Away where?"
"Away from you."
"Luna."
"Don't Luna me." She folds her arms over her chest. "You've been avoiding me all week. Now that I might blow your friend, you suddenly want to talk to me?"
"I didn't—"
"I don't care what your reasons are. You're an asshole."
"I know."
"Then you know why I'm leaving."
Yeah, but I have to stop her anyway. "Can I explain?"
She sucks a breath through her teeth. "I'm calling an Uber."
"Please. I'll drive you wherever you want to go. Just let me explain."
"Why should I?"
"Because you want to."
Her eyes flare with anger.
"Because I'll look pathetic if I beg."
"Sounds like a reason you should."
"I will."
She motions go ahead. Folds her arms. Stares at me like she's sure I won't take her dare.
But I will. If that's what it takes.
Fuck, here goes nothing. I take a deep breath. Drop to my knees with my exhale. This is not how I imagined doing this.
My head is already flush with other images—
My hands under her dress.
My lips on her thighs.
My name rolling off her lips.
Not the time. Not that my cock cares.
I try to ignore the fucker. Press my palms together. Look up at her. "Please, Luna."
She looks down at me. "Please what?"
Too much. Let me explain. Let me confess. Tell me it's okay. "Give me ten minutes. If you still want to tell me to fuck off, I will."
She says nothing.
"If that's not in the cards, at least let me make sure you get home okay."
"I'm an adult."
"I know."
"I can take of myself," she says.
"I know."
"Why should I let you pull that patriarchal bullshit?"
"Because I'm begging," I say. "Because I look pathetic."
"You do."
"And it's probably embarrassing for you. How pathetic I look."
She shakes her head. "I'm enjoying it."
"I'll stay here." I reach for her hand. "If that's what you want."
"It would serve you right." She half-smiles. "After all the shit about my lipstick."
"It would."
"I should probably keep you here awhile. At least until your knees are aching."
"Okay."
Her smile widens. "You think I won't?"