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“Isaiah, this isn’t your shot. It’s just a drink.”
He completely ignores me as the cashier comes back to the register with the shoebox in his hand.
Isaiah hands him over his credit card, keeping mine slipped into his back pocket as he pays for my socks, shoes, and new denim jacket before handing them off to me. “Get rid of those heels, Kenny, and let’s go have a drink.”
The light bounces off the crystal chandelier in the center of the room, sparkling with pinks and purples thanks to the curtains draping the walls. I guess the entire room is the chandelier, hence the name of the luxe bar located in the center of the Cosmopolitan.
Weaving through the crowd, I follow closely behind as Isaiah cuts a path for us to the bar. He holds his hand behind him slightly in case I need to grab it to keep us from getting separated, but I don’t. Regardless of all the bodies I have to plow through to keep up with him, I’ve never been one for casual touching.
When we make it to the bar and find the only two unoccupied stools, Isaiah pulls one out for me with his free hand. The other is busy carrying my white Louboutin heels I exchanged for sneakers.
“One drink,” I remind him as I climb up on the seat.
“So you’ve mentioned.”
Settling into my chair, my feet dangle, unable to reach the resting bar, and Isaiah’s eyes fall south before letting out a low chuckle.
“Have I told you lately how much I dislike you?”
“Mmm,” he hums. “I should warn you, Ken, I like it when you’re mean. It does something to me.”
“So that’s why you haven’t left me alone all these years? I should’ve been nice to you all this time, I guess.”
“I probably would’ve proposed a handful of times by now if you were. Nice. Mean. I’ll take you any way I can get you.”
As he takes the seat next to me, Isaiah’s attention drifts to my left hand, where a very bare ring finger rests against the bar top.
Even though I haven’t worn my old engagement ring in over a year, my finger still feels too light. Too empty. I guess that’s what happens after wearing a gaudy eight-carat diamond ring around every day for four years.
The guy sitting in the stool on the other side of me drops back in drunken laughter, falling and resting on my shoulder. It isn’t until I shrug out from under him that he realizes.
“Oops, sorry,” he apologizes, and I don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on my bare legs as he does.
I close my new denim jacket around me and catch the warning glare Isaiah shoots at him, causing the guy to shift his attention back to his own friends.
“He needs to keep his eyes to himself,” Isaiah mutters as he reaches down between us, using the leg of the chair to pull me as close to him as possible.
I can’t help but laugh. “Kind of like how you are right now?”
Isaiah blatantly checks me out, and in contrast, I don’t feel the need to hide every inch of my body this time. It must be this weird trust thing I’ve got going with him.
His smile is cheeky. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I grab the cocktail list from the counter. “What are we drinking?”
“We? Jesus, Kenny, this is a first date. I didn’t realize we were a ‘we’ already.”
“At what point in the night do you become less obnoxious?”
He shrugs, eyes on the drink list. “I’ve been told it’s about three or four drinks in. So, what are we having?”
“I’m not sure. I’m not much of a drinker.”
“Never? Not even in college?”
“Not exactly. I was a little too busy studying for my MCATs to be throwing up keg stands.”
I was also a bit too busy trying to be perfect, but that’s a story for a different day.
