Page 5 of Brazen Deceits

I try to sneak a sniff of him. He always smells like maple syrup and pine trees, which is a weird combo, but somehow fitting. “Yup. Trips said I could visit and eat if I always have a babysitter.”

“Hmm. Can you mix a drink?”

“I know the basics, but my specialty is coffee, not alcohol. Also, I have sushi,” I say, bobbing my head toward my plate, not ready to let it go.

“Then maybe I can use you as a bar decoration instead,” he says, mischief lighting his eyes. He pulls back, both hands bracing my face, looking for something and apparently finding it. He grins, spins around, and comes back with a bar-height stool.

Setting it on the side of the bar where I’d been standing, he pats the seat. “Up with you. You get to sit and look pretty.”

I laugh. “I don’t think me throwing back sushi is the sexy draw you’re hoping for.”

“You’d be surprised,” he says, dark eyes shining, still waiting for me to take my seat.

I climb up and he slides my plate to me, a pair of chopsticks appearing from behind the bar. “Now, what would you like to drink?”

A man in his thirties wearing a three-button vest and dress pants steps up to the bar behind Walker, so I shake my head. “You’ve got an actual customer. I can wait.”

Walker glances over his shoulder at the man. “I’ll be right with you,” he says, before turning back and waiting for my answer.

I look down at my sushi. “Something fruity, but not too fruity? Maybe a plum wine base, but with bubbles.”

Walker laughs. “And you say you don’t know anything about mixing drinks.”

He goes back behind the bar, pulling bottles and setting them to one side.

“I don’t,” I say. “My dad works at a liquor store, though, so I know a lot about alcohol. I just haven’t had many chances to play with it.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not twenty-one yet,” I say, thinking that explains it.

Walker wrinkles his brow. “But you drink?”

“Well, yeah, of course. But I can’t just go to the liquor store and buy whatever I want. Or order some fancy mixed drink at a bar.”

Walker sets down the bottle he was pouring with a thud. “Wait, you’re telling me you don’t have a fake ID?”

“Nope.” Of course not. I’m not certain, but being caught with a fake would probably ban me from joining the FBI. Honestly, drinking illegally is probably a risk too, but I’m not a total rule follower.

Walker bursts out laughing. “Okay, I need a minute. You good to wait?” he says, gasping over his words. I didn’t think it wasthatodd not to have a fake ID. Although, I am currently chilling in an illegal gambling hall in my attic, so I guess a fake ID would be small beans to my roommates.

Walker, taking a moment to recover, helps the thirty-year-old guy, pouring him some high-end scotch on the rocks. I can’t see the label, but it looks like either Macallan or Glenlivet. I wonder what the liquor budget is for a place like this—I’m sure they don’t have a liquor license, so they’re saving on that front.

My mind wanders, and I realize I’m making a business budget for an underground poker club in my head. What the fuck is my mind doing? And come to think of it, while everyone is tipping, no one is paying for their drinks, or the sushi. And this fish is top-notch. Is there a door fee? How does this work?

I finish up my plate, the bite-sized chunks disappearing faster than I’d like. So yummy, so sad to be done. Then I realize that this is basically an all-you-can-eat buffet. I can get more!

Walker tosses a ten in the jar, then dumps different liquids and ice into a shaker, followed by some tincture in a dropper. Is my drink a science experiment? Walker’s an art major, so experiments aren’t really his bread and butter.

He gives the concoction a good shake, then strains it into a martini glass. He sets it on the bar in front of me, eyes shining. “Try it, then we’ve got to talk about your ID situation.”

I take a sip. It’s sweet without being syrupy, floral and fruity, and exactly what I’m in the mood for. “Wow. What’s in this?”

“Plum wine, a floral gin, simple syrup, lavender extract, and soda water. It turned out well?”

“It’s delicious.”

Walker reaches over and snags the glass, taking a sip. “Damn. I’m one hell of a bartender.”

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