Page 4 of Say It Again

Panic started to bloom as his eyes darted around the bar for anything that looked recognizable. “But. But I don’t know how to make drinks. What if someone asks for a mojito? Aren’t there things to be muddled? I don’t know how to muddle.”

“No one’s asking for a mojito,” she scoffed. “Well, they might. You should learn how to make those. Sounds refreshing.”

“Please don’t go—”

“Daniel.” Olivia gasped and pointed a shaky finger past his shoulder. “Look.”

He flinched but squashed the urge to spin around, because they had not wandered onto the set of a spy movie, and there was nothing exciting to see behind him. “You know that doesn’t actually work in real life.”

But her eyes stayed wide as she continued to gape. “I cannot believe—what is she doing here? She’s, like, really famous.”

“I’m not turning around so you can ditch me.”

“This is insane.” Olivia started toward what was surely not anyone famous. “Let’s go get her autograph.”

Daniel finally whipped around as Olivia’s footsteps vanished in the opposite direction. With a sigh at himself and a grimace at her back as she fled, he knelt on the ground to orient himself with the items of the bar.

“Oh, you’re so dewy, Daniel,” he muttered as he angrily sorted bottles of gin. “You’re just aglow. A smoldering lust for life. Come out and spread your radiance. Well, here we are. Not one person has complimented my fucking dewiness!”

“Are we supposed to be complimenting your dewiness?” asked a voice from above. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get the memo.”

Daniel’s anger transformed to shock when he laid eyes on the creature from which that voice hailed. The creature who stood tall like a lighthouse among a sea of mummies with his icy blue irises and dark chocolate hair and ever just a touch of amber honey to his skin.

Daniel straightened in slow motion. Or he rose, rather, as if by tractor beam, with his eyes rounded and dick awakened, to gawk at the guy. The guy who was probably used to that sort of thing—people gawking. Paparazzi following him to the important places he went to speak to the important people about what stock did whatever it was that stocks did.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Did you need to finish your conversation?” The elegant stranger combed a hand through his hair, lifting his shirt just enough to display Herculean stomach muscles. “With yourself?”

“Hmm?” Daniel salivated like a St. Bernard, struggling to peel his eyes from his belly. “No, I can help you with your desires.” No! Gawd. He shook his head. “With your beverage desires, that is. Err, needs. Err, order!” Even his organs cringed. “How can I help you?”

The guy’s lips curled in amusement. “Well, I could really use a drink if you catch my drift.”

“Ahh.” He struggled to unglue his gaze from the guy’s mouth. “Rough night, huh?”

“A little,” said the Adonis. The incisors of his pretty smile bit down on his lower lip in a way that could make a boy suddenly wish he were a tooth. “But I’m not one to complain about things getting rough.”

Daniel had a mini stroke, but he made a full recovery. He should really respond to all of these comments like an adult instead of a horny teenaged Neanderthal. “Well, you’re in luck, because this is a bar.” Then, a little less convincing: “And I am a bartender.”

“I can see that.” He leaned on his elbow and propped his chin in his hand. “So then, how about you make me anything you please. Bartender.”

Pleazzz. The way he said it had to have been intentional. It melted into the space between them, all blood-warm and buttery. It hardly registered that Daniel had also leaned over the bar, but in his defense, beverage options were less important than sudden uncharted fantasies about what it might be like to touch this tall, dark, and foxy person’s large hand. Or muscular shoulder. Or the toned chest that peeked from under his deep-V-cut shirt.

Did the Adonis probably think this staring contest was a bit much? Daniel smiled like a rum-drunk idiot. Did it matter?

He inched his hand across the bar a little. He let his pinky wander closer. It wasn’t like him to be so emboldened, but he did it. He touched him.

The guy broke their eye contact to glance down at their mingling pinkies.

Then reality slammed into Daniel hard enough to shock his spine straight. “Apologies for that!” he said way too loudly, causing a few heads to whirl around. God, he was sweating. “Allow me to get right on that drink.”

Hands on his hips, he spun on his heels to face the opposite direction. It was too bad he didn’t think that plan through, because now he was faced with an empty wall and, against it, a single potted pygmy palm.

Instead of doing anything else—like making a drink, any drink—he doubled down and studied the plant like it was something remarkable and not a fucking plant. Get it together. Get. It. Together. Are you really losing your whole-ass sanity right now?

“Are you okay?”

“I am.” Daniel spun back around without looking at the guy. He could be charming. He could. Give him a damn minute.

He took a breath and surveyed the items of the bar. Neon red cherries, something called sloe gin, and a ceramic dish of either salt, sugar, or cocaine—who could be sure?—all sat around, being intimidating.

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