Page 18 of Vinter
“I, uh … How about one of those with the lime? I like lime. You know the one I’m talking about? Their commercials have couples on the beach or friends gathering in a backyard.”
Couple on the beach. Right. Friendly gatherings. And she liked lime.
Dallon shook his head. If she wasn’t sitting in front of him, he’d have laughed. She was way out of her element with him and she had to know it. It was as clear as the sign on the outside of the building. “You ever had a beer?”
“I … Yes.”
“Liar.”
“Am not.”
He let it go and pulled three bottles from a chest. Their customers liked bottles dripping with ice and water. He didn't mind. The bar was about good times, good booze, and good snacks. He could make a hell of a cup of coffee, too.
He popped the top on the three beers and set them on the counter in front of her. Two he slid a lime in, one said Lime on the label.
“Be easy with it. Don’t take a big swallow at first.”
“I know what I’m doing,” she said, picking up the one labeled light with lime. It was the cute how her nose wrinkled when she took a sniff.
“That the one you meant?”
“Yes.”
It wasn’t, but she was going to go down fibbing about it and he admired her for it.
“Do you like beer?”
The question struck him as odd because what did it matter if he liked it? But as he watched her eyes, he saw the uncertainty and the bravado begin to slip.
She needed to know she wasn't alone. That’s why it mattered to her. And that’s why it mattered to him. “Yeah. Every now and then I like to have a few.”
She gave a short nod and put the bottle to her lips. “Okay.”
Dallon watched as long as he could after she wrapped her mouth around the glass edge. She tilted it, letting some of the smooth, golden liquid flow. He bit back a groan and looked away. All he could think about was her lips wrapped around his dick, and her throat swallowing his come.
“So, ah … What do you think?”
She took another small sip, then a bigger sip, and then set the bottle back down on the bar. “It’s hard to describe. It’s not a pleasant taste, but it’s not a bad one either.” She smiled. “I … I like it.” Even as she nudged it away. “How much do I owe you?”
“That’s all you wanted? A couple of sips? Needed to wet your whistle, as they used to say?”
“I guess, yeah. Something like that.”
“You don’t owe me anything. It’s on the house.”
“Oh, I couldn’t accept that,” she said, and slipped her hand into her purse.
Dallon reached across the bar and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. The contact was sizzling hot and he fought against the urge to snatch his hand away, and the urge to drag her toward him. “Yes, you can accept it. It’s on the house,” he said again. He didn’t want to let go, but he did. It was time for her to leave, time for him to lock up and forget he’d ever met her. He liked being single, unencumbered. He liked one-night stands and no morning-after awkwardness. If he had her once, he’d have her again and again. Not good for his peace of mind and his carefree existence. And he was no fucking good for her. “I need to close up, Carrie.”
He didn’t know what else to say, but she didn’t respond. She was looking around the bar, turning full circle on the stool. When she faced him again, she picked up the bottle and took another swallow. Damn, but she had a pretty mouth.
“I don’t want to leave.”
Shit. He’d know she was going to say something like that. The girl didn’t take a hint. Or maybe she did and simply chose to ignore it.
Don’t say anything, man. Not a word. Not a single solitary goddamn word. “You should.”
She raised her eyes to look him square in his, a silent challenge reflected there. The bravado was back full force. “Why?”
