Page 6 of Fair Trade
I clear my throat. “Not ogling. Studying.” I pause. “Like a rare form of fungus.”
He snorts, eyes widening at my statement, and his own reaction, it seems. “I beg your pardon?”
“You know, some people think fungus and picture the ointment their uncle has to apply between his toes, while others think of truffles and pay top dollar for it. The eye of the beholder and all that jazz, I suppose.”
“Do I even want to know which category I land in?”
Jess places two waters in front of us, then quickly adds a tiny umbrella to his. She winks at me before hurrying away.
I raise my glass. “Don’t worry, you seem like the bougie kind.”
He shakes his head while eyeing my raised glass. “You know it’s bad luck to toast with water, right?”
I bite my bottom lip while narrowing my eyes at him. “Don’t tell me you believe in bad omens.” I nod at his glass, and he slowly lifts it. “It’s okay if you’re a little superstitious. I’ll make sure to keep eye contact as we toast. Even though you have zero intentions of sleeping with me, it would be a shame to condemn you to seven years of bad sex. I’m not a monster, after all,” I tease.
He tips his glass, eyes locked on mine. “And what should we toast to…”
I hesitate, because this is the moment where I should tell him my name. But the last time I tried to exchange pleasantries with a man, it ended with me telling him to get fucked, so I’m not exactly inclined to have my most exciting night out in months be tainted by talking about Luisa Álvarez, New York Monarchs’ GM.
So I shake my head instead. “No names.”
His eyebrows almost hit his hairline. “Pardon?”
“I’m trying to reclaim that mystery, remember? No names needed to toast, last I checked.”
He seems genuinely unsettled by my statement. So much so that I almost say to hell with it and give him my first name. “And I suppose you don’t want to know my name either?” His words spill out slowly, as if assessing them as they leave his lips.
I nod, and he searches my face tentatively, as if hoping he can decipher my intentions.
After a moment, he must find what he’s looking for, because he leans in closer and whispers, “I’d like to renegotiate the termsafter this toast, but for now, I accept.” He clinks his glass against mine. “To us—”
“To us.”
“For doing a spectacular job of pretending we don’t want to rip each other’s clothes off.”
A small gasp leaves my lips as he reaches under my seat and drags it closer to his. “Chin-chin, or get fucked, love.”
two
I need to knowher name.
This woman has captivated me since the moment she sat her fine ass down at the bar.
At first, she seemed sad.
Something I could empathize with, given the shitstorm I’ve currently found myself in. My life may have taken an unexpected turn, but I’m sure it’s nothing compared to living life in the shoes of a young woman sitting alone at a bar. Unable to just exist without having to put up with overly eager men looking to get their dicks wet.
Yet one by one, she dismissed those pathetic excuses for men while keeping her head held high. To say I was impressed by her finesse would be an understatement.
Something I’ve learned quickly about this spitfire is that she exudes power. She doesn’t shy away from eye contact and she gives as good as she takes.
I wonder if she can take all of me. No, I’m sure she can.
I shake away my dirty thoughts. Although it’s pointless, given that I left her momentarily stunned when I showed my hand and let her know with perfect clarity that I would, in fact, love nothing more than to bring her up to my room and have my depraved way with her.
I’m amused that my admission has surprised her. Beyond enjoying the verbal sparring we’ve easily slipped into, the woman is drop-dead gorgeous.
Small mercies must be the reason I spotted her before she knew of my presence. It allowed me an embarrassing amount of time to wipe the proverbial drool off my face and lift my jaw off the bar top.
