Page 120 of The Vacation Mix-Up
We make our way to the top floor, and I barely notice the walls caving in, my mind at ease with Riles by my side.
“What did you mean by ‘we’re done, for now’ exactly?” she asks as the doors slide open and we exit.
I side-eye her, thrilled my promise is lodged in her head. “I meant that, when you’re ready to kiss me again, it’ll happen.”
She stops at the entrance of the bar, her stare trained dead ahead. “What makes you think I’ll be ready to kiss you again?”
As I did downstairs, I lean in, graze my lips against her earlobe, and nudge her neck with the tip of my nose.
She gasps.
“That,” I whisper.
“You think my shock indicates I want to kiss you?”
“I do.”
“That’s rather presumptuous.”
“Is it?”
Chewing the inside of her cheek, she lets go of my arm and explains to the front-of-house crewmember that she has a reservation. We’re then shown to a lounge, my hand happily resting on the small of her back until she takes a seat in a high-backed velvet wing chair.
“This is lovely,” she says, wiggling her ass on the cushion.
I remove my jacket, drape it over the arm of my seat, and roll up my shirtsleeves as she scoops up the menu and studies the list, her tongue darting out and wetting her lips.
“Oooh! I know what I’m having.”
I suppress a groan and sit, resting my ankle over my knee. “What’s that?”
“The peanut butter cocktail. Yum!” She leans across the small table between us and hands me the menu. “How about you?”
Scanning what’s on offer, I opt for something strong. I’m gonna need it if I’m to respectfully keep my hands to myself. “An Old Fashioned.”
“Are you?” she asks, lips pursed as she crosses her legs.
“Am I what?”
“Old-fashioned?”
I admire the curves—hers and the chair’s. “With some things, yes. With other things, no.”
Her brow hitches.
I smirk. “You seem shocked.”
“Oh, believe me, I’m not. You definitely give offboth vibes.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know.” She moves her hand to her hair and twirls a loose tendril with her finger. “You justseemold-fashioned, but you also don’t.”
“In what way?”
Our waiter arrives, so she lets go of her hair, appearing relieved for the interruption. “Can we order an Old Fashioned and a Peanut Butter Mudslide, please?” she asks.
“Certainly. Whiskey or bourbon?”
