Page 6 of Wish You Were Mine (Kings of Eden Falls #3)
“So, are you guys staying here for the weekend?” Nora asked, looking between Miles, Bash, and Owen. “At Ky’s house?”
“Nope,” Miles said, shaking his head. “We’re crashing at the Hastingses’ beach house just down the street.”
“Hastings?” My ears perked up. “Is that the same Hastings that donated a ton of money to the university?” I swear I’d seen their name on half the buildings around campus.
I didn’t know too much about the family since I hadn’t grown up in Eden Falls, but I was pretty sure I’d heard someone say something about them being the billionaires that owned half of the small town.
“That’s them.” Miles nodded. “Their son, Ian, went to school with us, too, and since he and Owen are practically brothers, he got their permission for us to stay at their place. We figured Ky would need the room for other friends staying over tonight.”
“That’s cool,” I said, suddenly even more curious about Owen, who had seemed like a regular bartender just a few minutes ago. But if he was friends with all of these high-profile people— a football star, a pop star, and a billionaire—it made me wonder what kind of background he had.
Did he have a secret, high-profile job that he went to when he wasn’t serving drinks at The Garden?
It sounded like he’d at least gone to the same fancy boarding school that Ky and all these other guys had gone to, so maybe it was just his parents that had the fancy jobs...
As the group went back to filling their plates, my attention was momentarily diverted as I thought whether it was worth it to try and stay with my nutrition plan tonight.
I could definitely find a way to get in my protein and veggies with the variety of appetizers on the counter…
But since it was New Year’s Eve, it would be okay to have a little cheat day, wouldn’t it?
Seeing that Nora seemed to be having similar thoughts, I started loading my plate with various cheeses, meats, crackers, and plenty of veggies to balance it out, along with a cup of a delicious-looking pineapple punch.
I was taking a sip when Owen stepped up beside me, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder.
“Hey, just a heads-up,” he said, his voice lowering.
“I saw you drinking water at the club, so I’m not sure if you usually drink, but at one of Ky’s parties a few summers ago, some guys spiked the pineapple punch pretty badly.
Just wanted to give you a heads-up in case it’s the same tonight. ”
“Oh…” I blinked, glancing at my cup and frowning before taking another sip. The drink tasted like pure, fruity sweetness. “I don’t taste any alcohol,” I said, studying the drink.
“That’s the magic of the pineapple punch,” he replied, his voice casual but knowing. “It’s excellent at masking it.”
“So, are you saying I shouldn’t drink it?” I asked, surprised by his warning. Most guys at school seemed to be on a secret mission to get me really drunk at a party at least once, so it was abnormal to have this near stranger looking out for me .
“Well…” His eyes quickly scanned over me, and then he gave a slight, thoughtful pause before saying, “I guess as long as you’re eating and you only have one cup, you should probably be fine. Two cups though, and you’ll be blacking out.”
“Yikes.”
“I mean…that’s only if it’s been turned into the 'party juice,'” Owen said with a shrug. “Honestly, it could be fine. I just wanted to make sure you knew it probably wasn’t regular pineapple juice.”
“Thanks,” I said, nodding appreciatively, though I was still unsure about the punch.
I turned my attention to the bar and surveyed the selection of drinks.
It was a little overwhelming, and I definitely didn’t want to risk getting too tipsy tonight.
I looked back at him. “Maybe I’ll have something else… ”
“What do you usually like?” he asked, leaning against the counter. “I can mix something up for you.”
“Oh,” I said, momentarily surprised by his offer. “I-I guess you’re probably a lot better at that than I am since you do it for a living.”
“Hazard of the job,” he said with a wink.
Was that a flirty wink? I wondered as a flutter of butterflies flapped in my stomach.
Possibly.
But it probably didn’t mean anything—probably just something he did with all the girls he served drinks to.
Likely got him better tips.
But he wasn’t on the clock tonight, so hopefully, he wasn’t pretending to flirt with me for tips.
I shook off the thought and bit my lip as I glanced back at the bottles, trying to focus on the drink choices instead. Then I spotted a bottle of white rum next to sparkling water, limes, and mint .
“Could you make me a mojito with all this?” I asked, gesturing to the ingredients.
“Of course,” Owen said, moving with confidence as he started to mix my drink. And I couldn’t help but admire how easily he worked, the way his hands effortlessly measured and poured, knowing the right amounts of everything from memory.
He handed me the drink a minute later, and when our fingers brushed, a quick jolt of electricity went up my arm. And when something sparked in his gaze, I wondered if he’d felt it, too.
But instead of searching his dark eyes like I wanted to, I lifted my glass to my lips. The cool, minty lime hit my tongue, refreshing and smooth.
"Is it okay?" he asked after I’d taken my sip.
"It's really good." I nodded. "You clearly know what you're doing."
"Thanks." He chuckled. “Glad my skills aren’t too rusty.”
"So, what are you having?" I asked, hoping to keep the conversation going just a little longer.
"If you’re not planning to drink that pineapple punch," Owen said, grinning playfully, "I’ll take it off your hands so it doesn’t go to waste."
“Not one to throw out a good drink?" I asked, surprised. Most people in Ky's circle would have thought nothing of dumping a drink they didn’t want.
People who had never had to go without didn't always value things the same way as those who had.
Though, the opposite could be true, too, I supposed. Super wealthy people didn’t get that way by being wasteful.
Okay…I was definitely overthinking this.
But after dating a guy who always had everything handed to him—who took everything for granted (including me)—it was hard not to be on guard for the same signs.
“If this punch has what I think it might have in it,” he said, gesturing to the drink I’d set on the counter, “then the going rate for a cup that size would be about twenty dollars.”
“Then by all means, don’t let this liquid gold go to waste.” I chuckled, handing it to him.
When he took the red plastic cup from me, I felt a flutter in my chest at the thought of him drinking from the same cup I’d used.
Sure, it was a small thing, but since we were near strangers, it felt somehow intimate to share a drink.
I watched as he put the drink to his lips and gulped when I realized he hadn’t avoided the slight mark from my lipstick.
The fourteen-year-old version of me would have been over the moon about that fact since it was basically like he was kissing me, right?
“Can you tell if it’s spiked?” I asked, pushing my weird thoughts away.
Did he have some sort of special palate as a bartender?
“Not yet,” he said, his grin widening. “But give me about fifteen minutes, and we’ll see.”
I laughed, feeling strangely at ease with him, despite the way he was making my heart race.
“Shall we go join the others?” He picked up his plate and nodded toward the table in the dining area where Nora and the other guys were sitting with their food.
“Sure,” I said, my cheeks warming.
I followed him to the table, my gaze running over the chairs, hoping to see two seats left by each other. But there weren’t any.
“Here, I saved you a spot,” Nora said when she saw me come up behind her, patting the chair next to her .
So after a quick glance at Owen, I set my food on the table and then slid onto the chair next to my friend.