Page 5 of Fair Trade
He smirks, then sighs dramatically. “Well, now that you’ve given away the fact that all it takes is a few tequilas to set those puppies free, I guess the mystery is gone.” He attempts to hide his grin behind his drink before taking a sip.
Wait. Is he…?
“You—You’re fucking with me. I think?” I let out a dry laugh.
He rolls his eyes playfully. “Lady, I’m not fucking you either. God, what ever happened to the art of dinner and a movie?”
A zap of energy runs up my spine at his cheeky banter. Something I never see enough of lately with city boys. And now I’m certain I’ve picked up a slight British accent, which is doing my panties no favors.
I point at myself. “No. No, you see. You’ve got this all wrong. I’m not fuckingyou. Which is why there is no need for you to pay for my drinks. I’ve got it handled.” I drain what’s left of my drink to drive home my point.
He shakes his head slightly. “Well, you see, that’s where you’re mistaken.” He pauses, and I gesture for him to carry on. “I believe in fair compensation, and for the last two hours, you have been my main source of entertainment. Billing those three drinks to my room is the least that I can do.” He shrugs.
“Entertainment? Care to elaborate?”
His tongue runs over his bottom lip, and I forcefully refrain from biting my own. “At first, I truly felt sorry that you couldn’t be left in peace to just stare at your martini, which, for the record, is a very sad sight to see, but I digress.”
Do not laugh. Do not laugh. Don’t you dare fucking laugh, girl.
He continues, “But little did I know that you were more than capable of not only holding your own but actually bringing them down a peg in the process. Truly a work of art. I got drinks and a show, although the experience would have been better had you enunciated your words more.” He fake scolds.
“You don’t say.” I tilt my head, face serious, feigning that I’m taking his silly critique into consideration.
“Solid eight out of ten. Although the ‘get fucked’ was brilliantly delivered. I’ll bump up your score to ten for that line alone.” He points his drink in my direction, then elegantly tips back the rest of it like I did moments ago.
I couldn’t hold back my goofy smile if I tried, and his teasing eyes take on a softer look for a moment before Jess interrupts us. “Are you guys gonna keep eye fucking each other from across my bar, or is one of you switching seats?”
I keep my eyes locked on his. “Sorry, Jess, but I’m fine right where I am. Besides, I’ve been told I need to learn howtoenunciatemy words better. Why not work on my voice projection while I’m at it?” I taunt.
This time it’s his smile that’s unrestrained. And damn it, it has my heart fluttering out of my chest.
He makes a fuss about standing, and like I assumed, the man towers over everyone at the bar. He grabs his empty glass and makes his way toward me as if his steps weigh on him tremendously. Then he makes a show of pulling the barstool next to me away before he takes a seat. “Guess one of us has to be the mature one.” He sneaks a quick wink at Jess while not so subtly nodding his head toward me.
“Yeah. Uh-huh,” I say. I twirl the empty glass in my hands, wishing I still had some of my drink left so I’d have something to busy myself with.
We stare at each other unapologetically, not rushing to fill the silence with small talk. I would never be so brazen as to check someone out too obviously, but given that the three duds who approached me tonight all struck out, and given that I have no intention of taking this little banter further than saying good night in ten minutes, I allow myself to indulge.
I’m new at this having a bank account that isn’t dangerously close to overdrafting thing, so I wouldn’t be able to name his watch if my life depended on it, but I know it looks expensive. He most definitely has a tailor, and the suit is probably Italian. This knowledge is strictly from the mafia romance novels I read.
This close, I can smell his cologne, and I swear it’s doing things to me. I wish I knew what scents like sandalwood or bergamot smelled like, because maybe then I could describe what this sexy as fuck man smells like and explain the number it’s doing on my pheromones.
I shift in my seat so I can cross my legs and hopefully smother my horniness with the strength of my thighs.
His eyes immediately lock on the motion, and he has the gall to smirk, as if he knows exactly what I’m doing.
I eye him suspiciously as he waves Jess over. “I’d like to order for us.”
Jess and I both make no attempts to hide our groans, and I swear I hear her mumble, “And to think he was doing so well.”
Oddly, our reactions seem to please him as he says, “Could you bring us two waters, please? And absolutely no fruit in hers.” He hooks his thumb over his shoulder at me. “Not even a lemon. Wouldn’t want to tempt her to use it as a weapon and squeeze it in my eye as revenge for the male population failing so pitifully.”
Jess laughs before she walks off, but my amusement turns into sober curiosity.
How does he know I hate the idea of fruity drinks? Is he really that perceptive, or was it a wild guess? Am I reading too much into a freaking glass of water, or am I missing something else completely?
There has to be an angle here. In this day and age, when getting a man to text you back seems like a herculean effort, no guy is this smooth.
“For the love of God, I’m not a piece of meat, you know. A little discretion while ogling would be the polite thing to do. At the very least ask if this is my good side.” He huffs, barely containing the smile playing on his lips.
