Page 25 of Whiskey Splash

“You didn’t even know who he was this morning when you met him,” I scold, grabbing some napkins and wiping pizza grease of my fingers.

“Well, happily, the internet had no problem updating me on the pop-culture-panty-melting-phenomenon that is Desmond Pike. Plus, I didn’t need to know he was famous. One look at his face and torso and—please sir, can I have another?”

“I would have gotten fired!”

“Possibly, but let’s be honest, it probably would’ve been worth it.” Naomi lifts her glass as if thanking the Gods.

I roll out of the bean bag and walk on my knees over to the small fan in the corner, turning it up on high. “You know you're being ridiculous.”

“So, he asked then?”

“No!” I exclaim, fiddling with the angle of the fan. “It was awkward. It sounds sexy and fun when you’re teasing me about it, but the real thing was so uncomfortable. I mean, yes, he even made an awkward joke about the whole happy ending thing, but we were both embarrassed!”

“He actually made a joke about a happy ending,” Naomi interrupts. “And you think he was being awkward? Esme, girl.” Naomi grabs a gemstone from the nearest windowsill and lobs it at me. “Desmond Pike wanted to fuck you bad—and on your massage table!”

“Oh my gosh!” I forget the fan and snag a pillow, tossing it at her. She squeals, lifting her wine glass up so she doesn’t paint my floor burgundy. “Trust me, he did not want to do that!” I shake my head furiously. “It was uncomfortable! We were both uncomfortable. So, he made the obvious joke to break the tension.”

Naomi nods mockingly, tossing her blond hair over her shoulder. “It’s also the smoothest way of saying, ‘Hey, if you want to climb up onto this table and take a ride, I won't tell anyone.’”

“It wasn't like that!” Only my heart pounds, my pulse racing, because there was that moment at the end of the session with my hand on his chest and it felt like maybe … “I need another drink!” I announce, getting up and stalking toward the kitchen to the echo of Naomi’s hooting. I grab the vodka and shaker from the counter and start measuring shots.

“He did leave you an enormous tip,” Naomi pokes, as if she can read my mind.

“Because he was embarrassed!” I say quickly, filling the shaker with ice. “Because getting aroused on a massage table is uncomfortable, and sometimes men can't control what their bodies do. I’m sure that tip was his way of saying, ‘I’m sorry I'm a heathen!’”

“Who's a heathen?” The voice is my sister’s, accompanied by the chime of the Indian brass bells I have hanging from colorful strings on the back of my door. Naomi and I turn to see Arie letting herself in from the side patio.

“Don’t you have to work?” I toss at her, surprised to see my red-headed twin.

“I don’t have to be at Flambé for another hour or so,” Arie says, shaking her head. “Benefit of owning the place! Plus, Naomi called me and said we were gossiping.”

I shoot a look at my Scandinavian friend. “Traitor!” To which she only hoots.

Arie eyes me measuring out shots and strides over, grabbing the shaker from my hand. “Give me that, amateur! There’s a professional in the house now.” I don’t deny her. Arie can make a cocktail to rival Connor’s, which means I’ll be six shots over the moon in no time. “Now let’s focus! Back to heathens,” Arie commands, rifling through my fridge for ingredients. “Did you have to ban another pervert from the spa today?”

“Not exactly,” I mumble.

“Better!” Naomi chimes in, making Arie perk up and stop raiding the fresh spices.

“Better how?” Arie asks.

Naomi laughs, unable to contain herself. “Desmond Pike came into the spa today!”

“No fucking way!” My sister’s jaw drops as her eyes shoot to me. Her expression is surprised, but also laced with that smug sense that she knew something like this would happen and it was only a matter of time. Great! If playing match maker last night didn’t feed her ego enough, now she’s going to take credit for this little escapade.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” I defend, to which Naomi howls in the other room, undermining me.

Arie pulls out of the fridge, spices and mixers in hand, not taking her eyes off of me for a second. “You’re telling me Desmond went to the spa today and you two fu—”

“No! Don't say it!” I glare at her, slapping my hands over my ears. “Because it didn't happen!”

“Well, what did happen—” Naomi interjects, happy to share all the dirty details. “Is that he requested Esme personally, and she did her job so well she got him more pent up than relaxed, if you catch my drift.”

“Did she now?” Arie says, grinning from ear to ear, her ruby mouth claiming victory. “He asked for you, did he?”

I roll my eyes and start fumbling through the cabinet, looking for fresh glasses. “I guess.”

“Wait.” Arie pulls the cups from my hands and puts them on the counter, forcing me to look at her. “Desmond Pike was on your massage table—”

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