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Right now.
“I have to go,” I tell her as I stand. “I—I’m going to be late if I don’t leave.” Turning, I concentrate on getting out of here before I do something stupid.
Like kiss her.
Standing, she follows me to the door. “I lied.”
I feel my shoulders stiffen slightly and I turn to look at her. “You lied,” I repeat what she said, not sure if it was a question or not.
“Earlier.” Her cheeks are flushed a delicate shade of pink. “When I told you what I wanted to say—when I waited for you outside the shower...” she says softly, her breathing is quick and shallow, each draw of breath pushing her breasts against the thin fabric of her shirt, the swell of them pushing against its wide, low neckline. She’s thinking about it. About me. Us.
“Then tell me the truth.” I can see myself jerking her pants down, slipping my hand into her panties. My fingers inside. Her soft moan against my cheek...
“I wanted to say, yes.”
“Yes?”
“I asked you earlier if taking me to Benny’s was a date and you said you tell me... and so I’m telling you. Yes. It was a date. Yes, this is a date.” She takes a step closer, closing the gap between us. “Yes, we’re dating.” She looks unsure, despite what she’s telling me. Like she’s not quite sure who she’s saying it to.
I take her face in my hands again, tilting her chin up just enough. “Leave the dishes,” I tell her before pressing my lips against hers. Soft and light, our mouths lingering together. Our tongues tangling slowly. I angle my head slightly to deepen the kiss. I feel myself sinking slowly, and I pull away, my thumb stroking her cheekbone. When I do, I find her looking up at me. “I’ll do them after my shift.”
“Okay.” She smiles at me and lets me go.
Cari comes down an hour later. Her hair is piled on top of her head, exposing the long line of her neck. She’s wearing that sundress, the one that looks like a blue potato sack. The one that’s so baggy and shapeless, it makes it impossible to see the curve of her underneath. As soon as I see her in it, my cock starts to ache.
February in Boston and she’s wearing a fucking sundress.
She walks past me, barely sparing me a glance before stopping in front of Logan. I’m standing three feet away, mixing kamikaze shots for a large group of women. Ever since my spread in Bostonian came out, our business has tripled. Especially on Wednesdays and Thursdays.
“What can I get you?” Logan says, lifting a glass from the stack.
“Club soda and lime,” she says, flicking me a quick glance. As soon as our eyes meet, her cheeks flush. Logan fills her glass with ice and uses the gun to fill it with club soda before dropping a lime wedge on top of the ice. Fishing a cherry out of the garnish tray, he puts it in with a smile.
“Hot girls get a cherry,” he tells her before adding a short black straw. He says it to every girl who orders a drink from him. He flirts and winks because it’s good for business and it’s good for the tip jar. I know that. I know why he’s flirting with her. But that doesn’t change the fact that I want to smash this bottle of vodka over his head for doing it.
Lifting the cherry out of her glass, Cari pops it into her mouth. “Thanks, you’re pretty cute too,” she says, rolling her tongue over the plump red fruit. She’s talking to Logan, but she’s looking right at me. Then she’s gone, pushing through the crowd on her way to Con’s table in the back of the bar. He and Tess are back there, engaged in what looked like a pretty heated discussion, the last time I checked.
“Hey, man—you know her?” Logan says, watching Cari walk away.
Peeling my eyes off her ass, I look at him. “She’s mine.” Fitting the lid to the shaker over the top of it, I start shaking. Afterward, I tilt the shaker over the glasses I have lined up on the bar, running it down the row.
He must’ve misunderstood what I said because he looks at me like he’s waiting for me to finish my sentence “She’s your what?” he says, pouring a round of whiskey shots while I pass the kamikazes across the bar to the bunch of women trying to catch my eye. Thinking about what Cari told me about the stewardess on her flight, I almost tell them to come back tomorrow if they're interested in bagging themselves a bachelor just to fuck with Conner.
Drinks passed, and women sent packing with a polite but firm, not tonight, ladies, I look at Logan again. “She’s. Mine.”
I expected him to cop an attitude. Give me shit. Instead, he just smiles and nods. “Got it, boss,” he says before moving down the bar.