Page 11 of Mountain Daddy
Once.
Twice.
On the third time, I extend my pointer and middle finger at the same time she flattens her hand.
I let my smile win.
It’s unnecessary, but I extend my arm so my finger scissors are over the empty seat between us.
My pretty little loser only hesitates for a moment before she reaches her flat hand out.
I mime cutting her paper, letting my fingers press against hers.
Her lips purse like she’s fighting off a grin.
“Sorry for your loss,” I tell her seriously.
She huffs. “Not sure I’m losing when you’re paying.”
My brows furrow as I notice how cold her hand is.
I twist my wrist and gently grip her fingers in mine. “You’re freezing.”
Her chest rises with a deep inhale, but I force my eyes to stay on her face rather than looking to see if she’s cold all over. Because if I see nipples…
I clear my throat and brace my elbow on the bar while I drop the hand that touched hers onto my thigh.
She clutches her hands together and sets them on her lap, lifting a shoulder. “I run cold. But the tequila should warm me up.”
I give her a slow nod.
I could warm you upis right on the tip of my tongue. But even if I’ve been out of the game for a while, I’m pretty sure corny pickup lines don’t work any better now than they did twenty years ago. So I offer something else instead. “Dinner would warm you up even more. Have you eaten?”
She looks suspicious. “They do food here?”
They.
Part of me feels a little bad not admitting that I’m thetheyshe’s referring to. But it’s not like she asked me if I own the place, so it’s not like I’m actually lying.
“They do. Small menu, but delicious.” I tell her the truth. “You like burgers?”
She nods once.
Jessie appears with two beers in one hand and two shots in the other. “You decide whose tab I’m opening?”
Jessie took ten times longer than she normally would to get our drinks ready, and I’m not sure how to feel about my little sister wingman-ing me.
But… I’ll take any help I can get.
“That’d be me. And add a pair of burgers to the bill. Please.” I toss the last word on, not wanting to appear rude.
The woman didn’t say if she’d already eaten or not, but she didn’t shut me down either.
Jessie nods, then disappears through the door leading to the kitchen.
The woman taps her nails on the bar top, the pretty bluish paint drawing my attention. “So, you know the bartender by name, and you have the menu memorized… shall I assume you’re a regular here?”
I smirk. “I’m often told, by Jessie herself, that I’m here too much.”
