Page 5 of Say It Again

“Okay.” He nodded and held up a bottle of vodka. “I have theee drink for you. See this? Well, my specialty happens to be pouring it into a vessel. Like so.” Warm vodka glugged into a plastic cup. “Then, this? I pour it on top.” Warm sour mix slopped over the sides.

The Adonis pursed his lips. “That’s your specialty?”

“Correct.”

“What do you call it?”

“Don’t ask questions.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“No, that’s the name of the drink—” He dared a dishy smile. “—but apology accepted.”

The guy laughed, looking a whole lot like a matador who could tame a bull with a wink, and Daniel’s ego moonwalked across the stage.

“Now, do you want me to add the secret ingredient?” He arched an eyebrow, invigorated. “Or are you not feeling that adventurous?”

The matador’s icy eyes sparkled with his smile. Now they were getting somewhere. “Can’t wait to see this.”

Daniel dropped in a cherry. It flumped to the bottom.

“Innovative.”

“Hugely.” He then sprinkled in a dash of sugar. Or cocaine.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Oh, and one more thing. Can’t forget this—”

“Yeah, I wonder if we shouldn’t stop there?”

Daniel pulled a bucket from the freezer and splashed in two ice cubes with an awkward pair of mini tongs he couldn’t quite grasp. He slid the drink across the bar with a wink. “Gives it a little extra something between you and me. Enjoy.”

The guy gazed at him, then down at the cocktail. It started sweating too. “So, is bartending your life’s passion?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“I’m Aaron.” He extended his hand. “What’s your name, handsome?”

Handsome. Daniel bit his lip and took his hand, but before he could answer, “I’m Daniel, and I’m really adventurous in bed,” the bottom fell out of the moment when an older guy with ultraplatinum hair squeezed Aaron in a hug from behind.

Aaron jerked his hand away from Daniel’s touch.

“There you are,” the guy said in a British accent that sounded like it just crawled out of the River Thames, still sopping wet and covered in muck. He nuzzled into Aaron’s neck. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Dressed in black satin capris and loafers with oversized gold emblems, the guy looked like the runner-up in a contest of Who Can Look the Richest? The most obnoxious piece of his outfit (a metallic yellow jacket as bright as the surface of the sun and just as painful to stare at) snugged his lanky frame, twisting and swathing, studded with too many buttons to count.

With his fantasy tugged from under him, Daniel had to stifle a scowl at the guy. And the urge to chuck a meatball at his face.

“Come,” he said, taking Aaron’s hand. “There’s someone dying to meet you.”

That jacket. Daniel needed somewhere to direct his totally justified hatred. So… yellow.

“I’ll be right there.” Aaron wiggled his hand free from Yellow Jacket’s. “Give me a second.”

“We don’t have a second.” The guy took his arm. “People are waiting—”

“We do. We do have a second.” Aaron peeled him off and flashed his gaze to Daniel. “I just want to enjoy this drink. It was made with such flair.”

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