“A customer.” He is being so cryptic that I want to scream. Then he smiles at me and continues, “Oh, and you killed it tonight. Going to add yourself to the future lineup?”
“Ugh, no. One-time deal.” The rosy heat brushes past my outer cheeks, causing the global warming effect through the rest of my limbs. My embarrassment lingers longer with the liquor that penetrates my awareness. Who’s the customer? I look around to see if I recognize anyone. I contemplate whether or not to interrogate the bartender about the gift giver but he is off serving the next person before I can decide.
I take a sip of the fruity drink and rest farther into my stool.
My flesh chills and warms in unison as I pivot in my seat, sensing the presence of someone behind me.
“You really shouldn’t accept drinks from strangers.”
13
“You.” One word is all I can muster up at the moment. I blink hard and swallow at nothing. My response produces a smile in return and a nod of the chin. The eyes that once haunted me from the shadows were not a figment of my imagination. My instincts were right. He was watching me.
“Not all people are as trustworthy as I am,” he says with a smirk, leaning against the bar, shamelessly staring at me.
Quit seducing me. It’s working.
“Thanks for the drink, Graham.” I stare into the reddish liquid, not having a clue as to what it entails. It is good though.
“You were enthralling up there, you know that?” His question caresses my insides, making me melt into warm goo. I glance at the stage to see a guy playing a piano solo. “Breathtaking.”
“Yeah,” I nod at the player.
“You, Angie.” He turns my chin to focus on him. “You were”—he clears his throat—“are breathtaking.”
I don’t know how to respond. Graham leans his body into me, turning his back to the stranger sitting at my right even more. His perfect wash denim jeans were tailored to his exact body shape. His black thermal shirt tempts me enough to want to touch it. I want to run my hands up and down it, to feel the expensiveness of the fabric. It would be fun to sew him clothes. The man could sell the articles right off the bone. I think of how funny it would be if Graham took up modeling instead of whatever it is that he does.
I whisper a barely audible “thank you” and continue to ogle the male specimen standing inches away from me. From the corner of my eye, I spot Ethan making his way to the bar, surprising Claire with a full-on kiss. I try not to stare at the intense PDA make out session.
I look down into the top of my glass and shake it a bit to jiggle the ice, trying to hide my blush from witnessing my best friend in an intimate moment. My drink doesn’t smell strong, which could be troublesome if I didn’t have my fleet of friends floating about the place. I take a big gulp of the drink, trying to keep myself from saying something mortifying.
Graham signals the bartender and gets waited on right away—skipping the line completely. The place keeps getting more claustrophobic each passing minute.
“A shot of the best vodka you have.”
“Grey Goose okay with you? It’s not as smooth as Ketel One, of course.” The bartender laughs with Graham, as if they are enjoying some secret joke. “Otherwise, it is all rail and lower-tier brands.”
“Goose will be fine.”
I watch in awe as Graham hands over his black credit card—the kind that only an exclusive spender is privy to possessing. It is the first time I have ever seen one in person. No wonder he is getting the royal treatment in a dive bar. He’s probably tipping outrageously.
“Why are you here?” I blurt out, turning his attention back from the bartender.
“Oh, I was in the neighborhood.” His smile is wickedly devilish.
“Are you following me?”
His eyes study me. “Would you like that kind of attention, sweetheart?” The words roll off his tongue with ease. His sexy smile strengthens his facial features. He throws back the clear liquor, swallowing the contents in one gulp, never making a twisted face. His breathy gasp and the clink of the glass on the bar shake me.
I use my own drink as a distraction for my hands. Just twenty-four hours ago, we were bantering over the phone. Can I fight him off when I feel so compelled to submit?
The smell of his manly cologne penetrates my nostrils, making me want to burrow into his side and get high off it. It calls me to him. I lean into his body, nearly falling off my stool. One hand grips the wooden edge of the bar, the other clutches the red drink.
“Why you here?” I try again.
“I wanted to see you. You keep avoiding me.”
“I not doin’ that.” I take another nervous sip. “I just saw you yes’day.”