Page 3 of Only Lovers in the Building

his wrists and up his golden-brown arms. “The guy in the suit.”

There was only one guy in a tailored blue suit, and that was the most remarkable thing about him. Naturally he was drawn to

her. Like attracts like, she concluded grimly.

“No, thanks,” Lily said. “He’s not my type, and I have a voucher.”

He plucked it from her and held it up as he addressed the suit. “Sorry, man. Your money is no good here. The lady has a voucher.”

The man’s friends—he had quite a few—let out a collective Awww ! Lily could have crumbled on the spot. The suit handled it better. He brandished a black credit card and cried, “Shots for

everyone!” His words were met with cheers. The DJ bellowed, “Shot time!”

It seemed she’d left one circus for another. Lily washed her hands of the whole thing.

“He’s celebrating his divorce,” Hot Bartender Benny explained.

Lily chanced one last look the man’s way. Pink-faced and bleary-eyed, he was in a hell of his own making. “I wish him well.”

“How do you like your rosé, ma’am?” he asked, already retreating, while she wanted him to stay close and whisper all the secrets

of every person pressed around the bar. “On the sweet side or—”

“I don’t like it,” Lily stammered. “I don’t like rosé.” She’d only liked that it was free, which in retrospect was stupid.

“After the day I’ve had, just splash some vodka in a cold glass. I don’t even care what kind. Any celebrity brand will do.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. In the kaleidoscope of neon colors, she caught a glimmer of amusement. He crumpled the voucher.

“How about I make you something?”

“Please.” She peeled two twenties from the clip and set the bills onto the bar. “Anything you’d like.”

He glanced at the money. “Put that away. It’s on the house.”

This time, Lily had the distinct pleasure of watching him at work for her.

He poured and dashed the ingredients of a classic vodka martini into a shaker.

Blessedly, he bypassed the celebrity brands and reached for the top shelf.

Thrilled, she called out a final request. “Make it filthy!” Her words sailed across the bar at the exact moment the DJ cut the music.

Make. It. Filthy. Oh God... She had to get out more often.

How had she become this stiff, awkward, cashmere-clad woman? Be cool, she told

herself. Her attempt at playing it cool failed as soon as she caught Benny’s smirk. Her cheeks caught fire. Nothing could

douse it, not even the chilled, dirty martini he placed before her like an offering at an altar.

“For you.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

She slid a tip across the bar. He dropped it in a jar.

“This looks amazing,” she said. “You have skills.”

“Enough to keep me afloat through grad school.”

She refrained from asking where he went to school and what he studied. This wasn’t a networking event. She would not produce

a business card and ask him to circle back or touch base.

“Taste your martini before you praise my work,” he said. “It might be too dry.”

The perfect martini was a cut diamond in a chilled glass. Dirty or not, you checked for clarity and color. So far, so good.

The choice of garnish was an art. She went with stuffed olives, always—blue cheese, garlic, jalapeno. Those choices weren’t

on offer here. The skewered olive in her glass was standard, plain. She was willing to let that slide. Lily raised the glass

to her lips, took a sip. The chilled vodka slid down her throat. She instinctively closed her eyes and wished the day’s stress

would drain away. When she opened her eyes again, he was gone, off pouring shots for the suit and his friends. She took a

couple more sips. Just when she was ready to resume her sad, solo date, he returned. “Filthy enough?”

Lily nearly did a spit take. With a half smile, he handed her a cocktail napkin. “Tell me about your day.”

“What do you mean?”

The question was clear enough. Lily was buying time.

“You said ‘after the day I’ve had.’ That’s a setup for a story.”

“I don’t want to bore you.”

“Lucky for you, I love stories. It’s part of the job. I serve drinks and advice.”

Where Noah was a Mediterranean golden boy, Hot Bartender Benny was rough sea salt extracted from the Caribbean, geotag as

yet unknown. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark honey skin made brown by the sun. His face was all hard, sharp lines. And beneath

that black T-shirt, there was an equally hard and angled body—she just knew it.

“Come on,” he said. “You can trust me.”

Lily gave the martini glass a little swirl and thought it over. A minute ago, she’d told Noah the truth without flinching.

The big difference was she wasn’t trying to impress Noah. If a decade of happy hours had taught her anything, it was this:

emotionally unloading on a bartender would not get you laid. Not that it was her objective in this case, but why cancel it

altogether? She offered him a version of the truth. “I’m on sabbatical.”

“Are you in academia?”

“No. I’m taking a break from corporate America.”

“Congratulations,” he said. “Are you sure he’s not your type? He’s corporate, too.”

Across the bar, the suit was downing shots and miming tossing money. Lily shuddered. “Thanks, I’ll pass. He’s not my type.”

He folded his arms on the bar again, keeping a respectful distance, but just close enough. “So who is?”

If her life were a novel, the dominant trope would be Good Girl Gone Bad.

She’d never met a dark-haired, tattooed guy in a tight T-shirt she didn’t like.

The one exception had been Darren, the all-around nice guy.

Since she left him, it had been a parade of losers, one disastrous affair after another.

One broke her heart, but that was to be expected.

One had dated her for her apartment. Another stole her identity and ruined her credit.

She got ghosted, gaslit, lectured on her spending habits, and ridiculed for her taste in books.

She’d sworn off men after that and lived a chaste and pure life, the kind the nuns of her former Catholic school would approve of.

For the most part, it had served her well.

She’d applied herself to her career, soaring to new heights, only to crash into the glass ceiling.

The bartender was waiting for an answer. Now that it counted most, Lily couldn’t bring herself to spin the wheel of truth.

She couldn’t even hold eye contact. Therefore, she punted. Lily lowered her eyes and finished her martini.

“Another round?” he offered.

“No,” she said, far too quickly.

His face remained impassive, but deep in his eyes, amid the swirling neon colors and the glimmer of amusement, was sparkling

certainty. He knows, she thought. He knows he can get it.

Her phone chimed with the message she’d been waiting for. The studio is ready. Meet you in the lobby.

“That’s it for me,” she said, grateful for the excuse. “I have to go.”

“All right, ma’am. Do you need a ride?”

“No, thanks. I’m sorted.” She grabbed her large tote and the handle of her small suitcase and stepped away from the bar.

“Need help with that?” he asked.

“I can manage! Thanks again! Good night!”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

She dashed across the terrace, head low, clutching the handle of her suitcase as if it held the nuclear codes. She made her

way to the elevators and punched the Down button, furious with herself. If every hot bartender in Miami made her fluster,

how was she going to survive the summer?

Lily stepped into the elevator just as she heard him call out to her. At least she thought she’d heard him. The martini had kicked in, and the world had gone soft at the edges. She should not have downed the cocktail on an empty stomach. Her last meal had been halfa club sandwich at the airport.

“Ma’am! Wait!”

It was him. He chased her into the elevator. The doors sealed shut behind him, the car started its rocky descent. It was an awkward

situation to be sure, but Lily was consumed by other thoughts. “Do you have to call me ma’am ?”

This was the fourth time, and she was having none of it.

He drew a shaky breath. When he spoke, his voice was even. “At the bar, I can’t keep names straight, and you strike me as

a woman who wants respect.”

What gave him that impression? Was it the cashmere?

He held up her money clip. “You forgot this.”

“Oh.” She cleared her throat, somewhat embarrassed, yet determined to see this issue to its painful end. “My name is on it.”

The silver clip was a law school graduation gift from her father. Her full name was engraved in cursive letters.

He squinted to read it. “Marie-Louise Liliane Lyon.”

A faint Spanish accent added a lilt to the many L s.

“Now you know my name,” she said. “Please use it.”

He ran his thumb over the engraved letters. “Bet no one calls you that.”

He had a point there. “It’s Lily.”

He handed her the clip. A current passed between them when their fingertips touched.

“Nice to meet you, Lily,” he said.

“Likewise.”

“Who carries a money clip anymore?” he asked.

“Me. It was a gift.”

“Ah.”

He leaned against a far wall, head tossed back.

A moment ago, in the sultry light of the bar, he was dark and mysterious.

In the unforgiving light of the elevator, he was just as dark, just as mysterious, only now she could appreciate the wave in his hair, the angle of his brows, the cut of his jaw.

But those eyes... black, glossy, and bottomless.

“May I ask, do you have gray eyes?”

“Hazel.” Her eyes were a mix of brown and swamp green with streaks of silver, depending on the light.

“Beautiful.”

The word came out in a breath, the softest of whispers. Had he meant for her to hear? Only she had heard it, and it worked like a skeleton key, unlocking her innermost thoughts. “You’re my type,” she blurted.

That half smirk returned, and it was glorious, irresistible. Guess she hadn’t sworn off the party boys, after all.

Given that the word of the day was implosion , Lily would not stop until she acted on every impulse, no matter how self-destructive, stupid, or rash. When the urge to

kiss him struck her, and struck hard , she did not hesitate. She stepped toward him, grabbed his strong shoulders, and kissed him full on the mouth.

It was one-sided.

When she released him and stepped back, he said nothing. Silence quickly filled the elevator like poison gas. Thank the patron

saint of bad decisions, whoever it might be, the ride came to a crashing stop on the ground floor. The elevators exposed the

building’s age. The heavy doors squeaked open with excruciating slowness. Lily grabbed her suitcase and her tote and charged

out. To make a painful situation worse, she rolled the suitcase over his foot.

“Good night, Lily!” he called out. “Hope to see you around.”

The words landed like darts on her back. She glanced over her shoulder and stole one last look at his rugged, handsome face.

After this, she hoped never to see him again.