Page 10 of Whiskey Splash

I roll my eyes at him. He’s lobbing softballs, but I appreciate it. “I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Wherever she is, that’s where I want to be. Cheesy, sure. Crazy, probably.”

“It’s actually pretty cool,” he says. “It’s nice to see that you two mean so much to each other, even if she is trying to pawn me off as your late-night Casanova.”

“It’s her way of trying to make my life a little bit better.”

“Noble of her.”

“Sorry if she’s just made you a pawn in it all.”

“Occupational hazard.”

“Right,” I shake my head at him. “I’m sure.”

“So, what do you actually do at the spa?”

“Oh, I’m a masseuse,” I say, sitting back. “I give massages.”

“Really?” He seems impressed, but then his eyes glimmer softly. “So you work with naked people all day?”

“You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”

He shakes his head. “Not really.” The smile he’s trying to bite back goes all the way to his cheeks.

“Yes,” I say, leaning in and not letting him fluster me. “I do work with naked people all day long. Of course, there are no cock-doubles,” I toss back, going all in. “But plenty of flabby asses and old wrinkled men covered in coconut oils. It makes a show likeDownton Abbeyso much more exciting—because, you know, everyone is wearing clothing.”

“That’s what does it for you, huh?” Desmond smiles, leaning back. “People in clothing?”

“Surprising, I know.”

“So, did you always want to work with old, wrinkled men? Was that your teenage-self’s idea of the perfect career?”

“Oh yes,” I agree, going right along with the whole charade. “I took one of those aptitude tests in high school and it was clear—become a nurse and wipe old men’s asses or become a masseuse. Arie keeps trying to hook me up with these young good-looking fellows.” I motion to Desmond. “But really, wrinkly asses and liver spots, nowthat’swhat really gets this girl’s libido going.”

“That explains the whole ice-vagina dilemma.”

“Exactly,” I say. I take one of the still-flickering wine glasses and flip it over so the flame goes out, filling the bell with a smokey-grey cloud. “I’m so glad youget me.”

“So, you’re saying when I’m eighty-five and I can’t bend over, you’ll be interested in what I have got to offer?” he says playfully.

“Exactly!” I toss back. “You’re just fifty-five years too early.”

“Shame,” Desmond says, his eyes dropping to my neck and tracing the skin where the gold fabric and fringe holds in my cleavage.

I bite my lip as a silence falls between us. The awkwardness of all my old-man jokes fall away and the palpable heat of what it means to be young and virile pumps through my veins. My eyes linger on the broadness of his chest, and the muscles that too eagerly fill out his shirt.

Maybe Arie is right and all I need is a hot tumble in the sack with a movie star. I mean, he’s beautiful and charming, and surprisingly not running away considering all of my awkwardness.

“Shame, indeed,” I agree, picking up the wine glass to let the spread of silver smoke billow between us.

His eyes catch mine and my body thrums with the amber glimmer of his seductive gaze, my skin misting with all his eyes are promising. Only, every single one of my warning bells are also alarming, because despite all the silly and, granted, extremely charged banter, I know this is a game that people like him and my sister like to play. The kind I know it’s better to walk away from. I’m not my sister, who’s a dragon and can skip through fire unscathed. I am the one who will turn to dust and ash and blow away before the night is done. I don’t do one-night stands—much less have them with gorgeous, famous, television stars!

“Desmond,” I say, my neck and chest flushing. “You’re lovely.” I look at the table and away from his intensity. “But maybe we should both get out of this while we’re ahead, while it’s still civil and—”

“Nobody’s making cracks about coming on the other person’s face?”

I laugh nervously and look up. “Yeah, exactly,” I agree. All of me still wants to evaporate at the reminder of saying such an insane thing. I seriously need to get my brain checked for tumors.

Desmond sits opposite me, regarding me softly, still surprisingly chill about all of my awkwardness.

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