Page 3 of Lorcan's Obsession

“Macallan. Neat. Thanks.”

“Certainly, Mr. Greene.”

He flipped a tumbler glass up in the air and caught it behind him without looking. I sighed, completely unimpressed with the mixology gymnastics. All I wanted was to get another drink and calm my nerves before Glorious Thing returned.

“Didn’t you like the rosemary and wood-infused Japanese whiskey?” the bartender asked.

“What drink?” I responded with furrowed brows, like he’d just spoken a foreign language to me.

He jutted his chin toward my previous seat…the untouched glass with the "better than Macallan drink" I had requested.

“Fuck,” I mumbled under my breath, staring at my Oxfords. Had he figured it out?

He had.

Placing the fresh Macallan on a black coaster before me, he leaned forward and whispered, “Careful with this one.” He winked before moving to the next customer.

Goddammit. How could I have been so reckless?

And him? How dare he think he could just talk to me like I was some nobody? I could have him fired in—

“I have to leave, Pudding,” Glorious Thing’s voice stopped my mental rant. My ravenous eyes swept over her body as she planted her elbows on the counter, forcing her little black dress to rise higher on her thighs as she spoke to the bartender. “See you tomorrow?” she added before blowing him a kiss.

“Sure thing, Gorgeous,” the bartender answered.

Suddenly, my entire body was a bag of sand. Their secret lovey-dovey code names for each other meant they were that close or probably dating. I couldn’t move my limbs, couldn’t utter a word and beg her to stay, couldn’t even turn my fucking neck and look into her eyes and see if that spark, that fire we shared for a millisecond, was still there.

But what did I expect? That the object of my three-week obsession was just free and waiting for me to waltz in and take what I wanted? The idea that that was my dream case scenario angered me because now I knew one night with her would not sate me. I needed a week, or two, or maybe a month, and then I’d tire of her. It would be a small price to pay for letting my mind form a stronger bond with her than my dick.

“Should I call you tomorrow morning?” she whispered.

They weren’t living together. Small win. I peered at his face to see his reaction.

“The fuck no,” he mouthed, before adding softly, “Curtis is coming over later tonight.”

Unless Curtis was a girl’s name, this meant the bartender and I weren't in competition for the same holes or the same girl. I sat up straighter, my earlier desperation turning into an urgent possessiveness as I plotted my next move.

I unashamedly ogled her as she walked away. If the bartender already knew my crime, I might as well justify just how crazed I was for her. As soon as she disappeared past the shiny revolving doors, I turned to him.

"Hi, I'm Lorcan, and I need to see your friend again."

He pressed a forced smile, gave me a brusque nod, and continued mixing a cocktail for another gentleman. I felt the sting of his snub, but I needed her, so I reined in my annoyance.

Reading the name sewn on his shirt, I addressed him more firmly. "Dom, as I mentioned, I'd like to see her ag—"

"Not here." He cocked his head for me to go toward the less busy end of the bar. His brown eyes followed me as I slid into an empty seat like a petulant child who needed reprimanding.

"Now, listen attentively, Lorcan. That's my friend you are after, and the only reason I’ll help you is because you took a bold risk with her.”

I narrowed my eyes, playing innocent.

“You know exactly what you did with that drink today, and I’ve observed you dismiss everyone at your table for the past three weeks. You’ve been after my friend the entire time. Am I wrong?”

“No.”

“Good. Because if you are going down this road with her, there’s one thing you should know.”

“I’m listening.”

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