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My desire to pin her best friend to the wall.
Thankfully, the bartender interrupts. "You forgot your boyfriend's tattoo?" the bartender asks. "Hon, you gotta watch your drinking." She giggles and shifts back into the ritual.
I channel my martial arts practice. I try to let go of the thoughts in my mind. I try to stay here in the moment, ready, still, not reacting until I absolutely must.
The bartender notes my posture, writes it off as nerves, shoots me ayou've got thissmile. "Now, usually, I get on a gentleman's legs, but I'll spare you that jealousy." She winks at Daphne as she places a shot glass in my belly button.
The cool glass presses against my skin.
Not a sensation I expect or appreciate, but it still sends my blood south.
The bartender pours equal parts well vodka and peach liqueur into the shot glass.
A truly horrifying combination.
She's right. I'm a cocktail snob. I haven't drunk well vodka since college.
But that's a good thing. The memory will put me right back to parties that didn't suit me.
This doesn't suit me either.
She and I—
We don't make sense together.
Only we do. We make too much sense.
Again, the bartender interrupts my racing mind. She stays calm and easy. "Now, put your hands behind your back," she instructs Daphne. When Daphne follows, she continues, "And take it with your mouth." She winks at us. "Probably heard that before."
Daphne laughs. "A lot of variations. Jackson can be very bossy. He's a lawyer, you know. Used to getting his way. It can be annoying sometimes, but in the bedroom…" She shrugs as if to sayI just can't help but fall under the spell.
She's enjoying the role-play.
And I'm five seconds from alerting the bar to how much I enjoy that.
I close my eyes. Think of cold showers. Boring ball games. Movies about people dying horribly.
Then Daphne giggles and my eyes are drawn to hers.
I watch as she bends, wraps her lips around the shot glass, sucks just enough to hold it in her mouth.
She rises and sucks the liquid into her mouth.
Daphne laughs as she releases the glass into her hands. "How was that?"
"Something tells me you have practice." The bartender winks. "Now, hon. Hop up here. It's your turn."
Which means it's my turn to take a shot from her stomach.
Fuck me.
Chapter Ten
Jackson
Daphne slips onto the bar with ease. She stretches her arms and legs, taking up as much space as possible.
Something about it feels different.
