“There is an outlet over there, next to the booth.” I follow where she is pointing. Nodding, I slide off the stool, my ass officially dead from the lack of circulation after sitting for so long.
“Have a seat there. I’ll bring you a fresh drink and join you.”
My mouth falls open, and I do a double take. I see her panic at my reaction, and she quickly waves a hand around. “Or I’ll leave you be. I don’t want to bother you.”
My face morphs into a wide smile. “Oh, no. I’d love it if you’d join me. Just…don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Surely, she doesn’t want to babysit me.
“No. I’m closing up tonight.”
“But it’s Christmas Eve.”
She shrugs. “Someone has to do it.” Her voice is flat with her response, and it causes my gut to twist, telling me something isn’t adding up. But I don’t push her.
I nod. “Okay, I’ll be waiting over there.” I smile and take off to the booth.
She comes after a while carrying two glasses. Sliding one across the wooden table to me, she sits on the opposite side.
I pick up the glass and hold it out to cheers. “Thanks for this.”
“Bye, Gracie!” a patron calls out.
She waves and watches them leave before returning to face me, clinking her glass with mine and taking a sip. Staring at me over her glass, she lowers it to the table, and an unreadable expression appears on her face.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
I smirk as I answer, “Marc.”
“Marc,” she repeats, and it’s like a purr, or at least that’s how it sounds to me. My pulse races, and I swear I see interest flash across her face. I wonder if she’s attracted to me too.
Nah, she is just trying to be nice. Probably feels sorry for me being stranded here.
I nod, watching her as I drink. “Am I your last customer?” I ask, checking my watch and glancing at the time, shocked to see its one thirty in the morning.
It’s fucking Christmas.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Now I feel worse,” I say with a groan.
“Don’t. It’s not like you asked for this to happen?”
“Definitely not.” I scoff.
“Well, now that you’re here, we may as well get to know each other,” she says with a shrug.
“Really?” This is too good to be true.
She lifts her glass to her lips, taking a decent drink. When she lowers it back to the table, she licks the residue off her lips. Her pink tongue gliding over her plump bottom lip is taunting, and the alcohol running through my veins hasn’t slowed down my desire. If anything, spending more time around her tonight has increased it tenfold.
I clutch the glass in my hand like a lifeline.
She nods and asks, “How old are you, Marc?”
God, the sound of my name coming from her throat is stirring me up.
I need to stay focused and try to keep my mind from drifting into dangerous territory.
“Older than you,” I say with a smirk.