A few moments later, the man starts moving, mixing up a drink.
My heart tries to leapfrog out of my throat, especially when I see the glint of a copper mug, know that it’s for a Moscow mule.
My drink of choice.
“Hmm,” Smitty says quietly.
“What?”
But he doesn’t answer, just turns to answer something that Raph asks him, and meanwhile, I’m watching Jackson pay for my drink and tip the bartender and…
Carry the drink back to the table.
Watching him set it gently in front of me.
I glance from the copper mug up to him. “Thanks,” I say, almost expecting him to return to jerk, to spill it in my lap or something so I have to go home.
He doesn’t.
He just sits in silence next to me.
And I sit in silence next to him.
And…I drink my drink.
And…he drinkshisdrink.
But I can’t help but think that this is going to fuel my nighttime fantasies as well.
An hour later, I’m ready for one more drink before I head home.
Normally, I would have left already, gone back to my bed and my blankets and my laptop filled with work, but Jackson slipped out a bit ago and the tension between my shoulder blades relaxed.
And Smitty has been telling a funny story filled with on-ice antics and…
Well, part of me doesn’t want to go home yet.
Quietly, I push my chair back?—
But quietly doesn’t matter with these guys—they all turn to me.
“You heading home?” Smitty asks, big palms on the table, as though he’s going to push himself up. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
I shake my head. “I’m just going to get one more drink before I head out.”
“I can?—”
I touch his shoulder, staying him. “I’ve got it.Really,” I tell Raph, Walker, and Cas when they open their mouths, the protests already forming on their faces. “I need to stretch my legs.”
And then I get up and head to the bar.
Because that’s the only way to handle these guys—stand firm on the battles I need to win and strategically retreat before they can work up any further protests.
Tonight, the battle I need to win is me buying my own drinks.
It’s bad enough that Jackson got the first one.
I—