Plus, he called her angel. It was a sign of familiarity.
I’d learned a long time ago that endearments usually came with strings. They were said when someone was prepping to brush you off, or needed something. My father called me “Pumpkin” every once in a while, but he was the head of a financial service company and didn’t need much from me.
Brock, however, was my father’s pride and joy and backed him up accordingly. While it wasn’t technically an endearment, my father called Brock “son.” Even when I was a kid and told my father what happened, Brock had denied everything, and my dad chose to believe him instead of me. I pretended that maybe it was because he couldn’t handle the truth, and believing Brock was easier and less painful information to deal with. But, deep down, I feared he was really trying to avoid a scandal.
I shook my head. Tonight was not the night to think of this. No night was, actually. The past several years had been spent with me burying such thoughts. Jack was my focus…what I kept my eyes on to drown out the rest of the world around me.
But he must have a history with the bartender. They may even be seeing each other now. And if a mere hand touch made me a Five: Hot, I was obviously way out of my league when it came to the likes of Jack, or his tastes and what it would take to make him hot.
Not that I was considering that.
“Could you also bring us another water and,” he glanced at me, “a pineapple vodka and soda?”
The bartender looked at me with annoyance. “Sure.” She hustled away and Jack readjusted so that his gaze was solely back on me. Funny how I craved it already. Like his attention was some kind of rare, priceless charm. Of course, such a rarity would also be considered unlikely to obtain. A fact I should keep in mind.
“Pineapple and soda?” I asked.
“I figured you’d have your water, and if you wanted something else, it was available.”
“Thank you.” A drink did sound good.
The bartender was surprisingly quick returning with the drinks. She set them in front of me, her cleavage pressing into Jack’s space was obvious. But he never glanced at her. Just said a simple thank you and she walked away with a bit of a stomp.
I looked between Jack and the distant-growing bartender and took a sip of my drink. Forget the water, I needed something stronger. Maybe some liquid courage.
“Something you wish to say?” he asked, taking a drink of his own.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because you’re glaring at Angel.”
My eyes widened. “Wait, her name is Angel?”
Jack nodded.
“Oh.” A smile of relief came out, but I tried to disguise it with another long swallow of my fruity drink. “I thought you were calling her an endearment. Like you two had a history or dated or maybe are dating now. Not that it’s any of my business.”
Crap. Babbling again. Stupid words. I shut them down by finishing my drink. The alcohol hummed through me just enough to slow my brain and calm my nerves.
“The idea seems to make you,” he looked at me over the rim of his glass, swallowing down his drink, then gave a sly smile, “nervous.”
“More like annoyed,” I muttered, then clamped my mouth shut and embarrassment flooded.
“Really? My possible history or present interactions with Angel annoy you?”
“I’m sorry. This is inappropriate of me. I don’t even know you and have no right to feel—”
“You have every right to feel however you want, whenever you want,” he cut me off quickly with seriousness in his tone. “I just wish you’d follow through on those feelings.”
“Excuse me?”
“If you feel something, want something, want to know something, then follow your gut or ask. Don’t simper.”
My mouth hung open. He was direct, I’d give him that. And whether it was the alcohol or how he’d gone from protector to challenger, a fire sparked inside me, rising to the challenge.
“Alright,” I said and raised my chin. “It’s obvious the bartender has a thing for you. It annoyed me because it was a blatant display.”
“That’s it? So you prefer to play coy?”