Page 19 of Pucking Christmas Triplets Surprise

"Alright, Milo," I say, shaking his hand like we’re closing a business deal. "What’s your big plan to keep me entertained?"

He grins again—big, boyish, and just all the way wrong for me, which means right now it is probably right. "Easy, and my answer to almost anything, but let’s start with a pornstar martini.”

I snort, shaking my head. “A what?"

He gestures to the bartender with a snap of his fingers, throwing a wink at me over his shoulder, and I know I am supposed to blush but I can't force myself to do that, so I flip my body and lean against the bar, so that my back is to the dance floor.

"Two Pornstar martinis! Please and thank you."

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the tiny laugh that slips out. The tiny, yet veryreallaugh that slips out. "Classy, huh? You ordered a drink with 'pornstar' in the name."

He presses a hand to his chest, feigning offense. "Hey now, it’sculturedif there’s a prosecco shot on the side. Trust me, I’ve got taste."

The bartender slides the drinks—a pale golden cocktail with a passionfruit half floating lazily on top, next to a shot glass of Prosecco in front of us, and Milo picks one up, holding it out ceremoniously. “Now, here’s the deal,” he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “There are three ways to drink this. You gotta choose carefully, though—it says a lot about you.”

I arch a brow, playing along despite myself. "Oh really? And what are my options, O Wise Mixologist?"

Milo taps the shot glass of Prosecco with his finger, his gaze flickering—just briefly—to my lips. "Option one: You start with the shot—clean, fast, no second-guessing. That means you’re bold. You don’t hesitate. A total thrill-seeker. The kind of person who jumps headfirst into anything, no regrets.”

I hum thoughtfully, drumming my fingers on the bar, playing it cool. But the flicker of warmth in his gaze sends an unwelcome flutter through my chest, and loosens the tightness in the pit of my stomach.

“And option two?" I ask, arching a brow.

He gestures toward the martini glass. “You sip the martini first—nice and slow. That tells me you’ve got patience. You like to draw things out, savor every second.” His voice drops a bit, softer now. “ I can tell you crave some tension. You want to be pushed to your limits, teased until you just can’t take it anymore. You don't want things hot and fast, you want them slow and intense... just like this martini.”

I clear my throat and turn to not lock eyes with him as the image of Christopher's slow, long licks along my clit just a week ago flashes across my mind.

He chuckles. “I personally love to savor the taste.”

“And the third option?” I press, trying to sound bored, though I’m anything but.

Milo taps both glasses with a playful smirk. “Ah, the wildcard move—you bounce between the martini and prosecco, back and forth. It says you like surprises. You’re unpredictable. A little chaotic—” He leans in even closer, and I can feel the warmth radiating from him. “Dangerous... in the best way.”

"No one just dumps the shot in?" I snort.

He jumps back, placing a hand against his chest as if he is offended. "No, you psycho."

Christopher would never say that to me, but I giggle the way I have practiced: four short ha-has.

I glance between the drink and him, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes. "And what’s the right way to do it?"

He tilts his head, that cocky smirk never wavering. "Depends on the kind of night you’re planning to have."

I let out a laugh, though it feels more out of habit than genuine humor. I reach for the prosecco shot first, shooting it back in one smooth motion. It bubbles down my throat, sharp and fizzy, cutting through the haze of cheap vodka lingering on my tongue.

He watches me, impressed. "Straight to business, huh? I like that."

I shake my head, setting the empty shot glass down and reaching for the martini. "Not in the mood to drag things out."

I take a sip, the sweetness hitting my taste buds instantly—tangy, smooth, with just enough of a kick to make me feel like I’m drinking something more than overpriced juice.

He clinks his own glass against mine. “Well, Josie, here’s to getting exactly what you want tonight.”

I raise my glass, smirking. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

Marissa catches my eye from across the room, raising a brow as if to ask,who's your new friend?I offer her a small shrug in response—nothing serious, nothing new. Just something tomake me forget the way Christopher’s lips felt against my heated skin.

I lean back against the bar, feeling lighter than I have in ages, even as the club pulses with music around us. Milo watches me, an eager anticipation dancing in his eyes, and for a moment, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to actually be attracted to him. I want to remember what it felt like to not know that I am slowly becoming addicted to Christopher Jackson. I want to know life before I knew how great it felt for his hands to be on my skin, and for my heart to flutter in my chest at a foolish guy in a bar.

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