Page 15 of Whiskey Splash

“So, he likes the restaurant,” I say, unimpressed. “Great. That’s good publicity for you, Arie. Congratulations.”

“Read the caption, you numbskull!” she hisses, tapping on the words below the photo.

It reads:

The view is incredible. The food delicious. And if you’re lucky, the fantasies you’ll have about your waitress will keep you up all night. Flambé is completely sinful.XOXO.

Strike that, it’s all O’s.

A light mist breaks out over my shoulders at the overtness of it, my body immediately reacting as if he’d said it to my face. Of course, he didn’t really write that. I’m sure Desmond Pike has a publicist who writes all his social media posts for him. And even if he did, I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t possibly have spent last night hung up and unable to sleep because he was thinking of me.

“This is totally a publicity thing,” I say, clicking back to look at his other photos and captions. “You said he plays some sort of big-shot player on his television show. I’m sure this is nothing more than him playing out that persona for his fans.”

“Maybe,” Arie says with a raised eyebrow, as I look for the evidence that he’s done the same thing at the last restaurants he’s attended. “On the other hand, it would also be the perfect cover for telling you he still wants to bone.” I glare at my sister, who’s beaming. “Hell,” she continues. “Maybe playing hard to get was a huge turn on for him.”

“I wasn’t playing hard to get!” I click my phone off and toss it in my purse. “Seriously, I left because I couldn’t handle it—which I would’ve done with any famous person, model, billionaire, alpha-male, or romance-novel-fodder you tossed at me. Understand?”

“Well, maybe you should start trying to handle it,” Arie smiles wickedly. “And by handle it, I mean handle Desmond and his great big—”

“If you say ten-inch cock, I’m going to slap you.”

Arie gasps in excitement. “Did you start watching his show last night? Oh, tell me you did! Are you at episode three where—”

“No! Oh my gosh, listen to yourself.” I grab my things and stalk out of her office, heading down the hall. “And for the record,hebrought up his … size, all on his own.”

“He was trying to impress you,” Arie says, skipping down the corridor after me.

“That wasn’t the context of our conversation at all.”

“Maybe not,” Arie snags my elbow. “But let me ask you one last question before you storm downstairs and take out all your anger on the massage table.”

I frown at her, even though she’s probably right. I hope my schedule is filled with deep tissue massages that I dig into and pound out of sight. “Make it quick, I’m already late.”

“Does he turn you on?”

I clench my fists. “What kind of question is that?”

“A serious one!” Arie pushes. “Look, if he doesn’t get the lady bits all in a tingle, then I get it, there’s no chemistry. Move on. But tell me, honestly, was it truly tingle-free Antarctica down there, or did you actually walk out on Desmond because it was Mardi Gras in your panties and you were afraid to invite him to the party?”

I glare at her, that deviousness twinkling in her eyes again. I don’t have to say anything for her to know the answer to that question, because whatever I’m thinking can easily be read on my face, because I’m an open book.

“Damn!” Arie says, letting go of my elbow. “Please tell me you gavehimthat look, because I’d be up all night dreaming about fucking you too.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m never covering another shift for you again.” I push open the side door and walk out into the sunshine.

“You didn’t really cover last night’s shift,” she tosses after me.

“Exactly my point.”

“What if Desmond comes back to the restaurant looking for you?” Arie asks, a meddling tone in her voice again. “Should I have you on speed dial?”

“No!” I shoot back, and then I sarcastically throw her words back at her. “I’m playing hard to get, remember? If he really wants to find me, he can try harder.”

Arie whistles with excitement as I stalk away, her laughter rollicking through my ears.

He’s not going to find me, of course. I know that. Arie can make up all the silly reasons for why Desmond Pike would be interested in me, pretending there’s a connection in all the randomness of the last evening, but the truth is, my life doesn’t work like that. And if I do see him in the resort, I already know what will happen—I’ll be diving behind the nearest plant or bee-lining it in the opposite direction—because I am a walking disaster waiting to happen.

Chapter Four

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