Page 18 of Rough Ride

“Your type. Like, who you usually date.”

I poured three more shots, the same as before. We clinked our glasses together and drank at the same time, Johnny making a face as the fourth shot in ten minutes settled in his stomach.

“I don’t have a type,” I replied cheerfully.

Johnny scowled. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Surely you have some kind of preference,” he insisted, raising an eyebrow. “Blond? Redhead? Buff? Lean?”

I thought about it for a moment. “I don’t have a type when it comes to physical appearance. But I do prefer men with a sense of humor. Men who don’t take themselves too seriously, and can laugh at themselves.”

Eli clapped his hands together and said, “Hot damn! I’m her type!”

“I also don’t like arrogance,” I added. “Confidence, sure. But not too much.”

Johnny turned and laughed at his friend. Eli shoved his middle finger into the blond’s face.

“I guess that tracks, since you hate Chris Appleton,” Eli said, changing subjects.

“Not hate,” I clarified. “Strongly dislike. But yes.” The last thing I wanted to think about washim, so I raised the bottle toward them. “Any more questions?”

Eli looked at the bottle like it was a rattlesnake. “I think I’ve bit off more than I can chew. You two go on without me.”

“If you’re not drinking,” I said, “then you need to make room for someone who is. It’s a busy night.”

He sighed, pulled out a hundred dollar bill, and slid it across the bar. “To cover my shots.”

I nodded toward Johnny. “He’s buying all the shots when I’m done with him.”

Eli flashed me a smile, his eyes already swimming from the alcohol. “Then it’sjustthe tip. Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” He winked at me, clapped Johnny on the back, and walked away, shouting, “Good luck!” over his shoulder.

“I’m surprised he didn’t last longer,” I admitted to Johnny.

He gave me half a grin. “That’s what all the women say about Eli.”

Both of us laughed at the stupid joke. I wasn’t buzzed since only my first shot was real, but Johnny was clearly already feeling the liquor.

“Any more questions?” I asked again.

Johnny looked at the bottle for several seconds, then his blue gaze swung up to me. “I don’t want to get you drunk in the middle of your shift.”

“If you can’t keep up with me,” I taunted, “then I’ll give you the bill right now.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, then tapped one finger on the bar. “Pour the shot. How long was your last relationship?”

“Ohh, that’s a good one,” I said while pouring. The answer wasn’t a very happy one, so I filled my shot with actual whiskey. I welcomed the way it burned down my throat.

“Well?” Johnny asked.

“My last relationship was three years,” I admitted. “My lastrealrelationship. I had a fling a few months ago, but I don’t count that.” The memory of that fling was like a white-hot knife twisting into my gut, but I ignored it. I wasn’t going to think abouthimtonight.

Johnny blinked. “Oh.”

Two other customers were waving at me, so I took their orders and spent a few minutes making their drinks. When I returned to Johnny’s side of the bar, he looked like he was sorry he asked.

“I didn’t mean to ask—” he began.

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