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“I’m here for work,” I say. “Not play.”
“You’re off the clock,” he argues. “As your boss, I give you permission to play.”
“I don’t think so. Hard glare, please.”
Oliver exhales through his nose, giving me one last moment to change my mind before hardening his face. He furrows his brow and glares across the bar, giving the blond man a protective death stare that even makes me lean back a bit.
I sip from my beer as I wait.
“And there goes Blondie,” Oliver says after a moment.
“He’s gone?”
He nods. “He’s gone.”
I glance over my shoulder again to confirm it. Blondie no more.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You’re welcome. Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you really ask me to do that?” he asks.
I shrug. “I wouldn’t know what to do with him, anyway.”
“Oh, honey.” Oliver chuckles. “I know better than anyone how untrue that is. You could use that guy’s chin as a bicycle seat right now. What’s really up?”
“Nothing,” I say. “I’m just not in the mood for… a bike ride tonight. I have plans.”
“Plans?”
“Yes, I have plans.”
“What plans?”
“I’m having a wind-down drink with my boss,” I say. “Then, I’m going back upstairs to my suite, taking a long, hot shower, and then reading until I fall asleep. They’re perfect plans. More than adequate for a Wednesday night.”
“Sure, in Cleveland,” he quips. “This is New York City. Bike lanes on every street.”
“Okay, big guy. What are your cardio plans for this evening?”
His lips twitch. “I’m having a wind-down drink with my assistant, going upstairs to my suite, and reading until I fall asleep.”
I laugh, victorious. “That’s what I thought!”
“But…” he raises a finger, “if I spotted a twenty-seven-year-old with big lips, thick glasses, and an attitude problem, I’d be legally obligated to make an exception.”
“I don’t have an attitude problem.”
He leans in an inch. “I wasn’t talking about you.”
I gasp. He laughs. “Wow,” I say. “Okay. Cheers.” I cringe as I take another drink from my bottle. “Is that really how old I am now?” I muse.
“Eh.” Oliver shrugs. “Still young. Still hot.”
“I guess.”
