by Nana Malone
***
Alec looked up from the bar to see Jaya striding into Synthesis. A small smile hit his lips. That was Jaya. No guile. No sashaying, not strutting, just straight to the point, get to business. He liked that about her.
As she walked toward him, she waved a little white handkerchief and smiled sheepishly. He knew she was here to apologize. And the weight he’d been carrying around since their fight lifted. But his more practical side understood that it would be easier if she’d stayed mad at him and hadn’t seen him again. But easier for who? Why did he put his hands on something that he knew he couldn’t have? “Because I'm a masochist that's why,” he mumbled under his breath.
“What did you say?” she asked as she grabbed a bar stool and plopped a folder and her handkerchief on the counter.
“Nothing.” He smiled. “You look dressed for an interview. Are you already giving up on Adele?”
She glanced down at her outfit. Brow furrowed, she asked, “What's wrong with what I'm wearing?”
The light gray pin stripe suit was form fitting and cut to fit her slender curves. And she was wearing those mouthwatering shoes again. All he could think about was her wearing nothing but those shoes as they wrapped around his back and she screamed his name. He cleared his throat in an effort to clear the imagery. “Not a thing.”
She shrugged. “I just finished with Adele. Besides, Tamara called and wanted some help at the wedding site, so I'll go by for an hour. Best to have my armor on.”
Ah, so that was it. “You want to drive her crazy with curiosity as to who you’re working for?”
She shrugged. “A little. Petty maybe, but not even close to what she’s pulled.”
“Good point.” He reached out and touched her hand. The usual rush of emotion and need didn't surprise him this time. But it did make him want do things to her in the bar that probably weren’t legal in fifteen states. “About yesterday—”
She put up a hand and interrupted him. “No. Please let me.” She shook her head. “I was a total brat and ungrateful. I realize you were only trying to be nice. Clearly, I have a hard time with relinquishing control.”
Alec folded his arms instead, in the hope he'd keep them to himself. He really wanted to hold her. It had only been a week and a half since they’d started seeing each other, but it was already an automatic thing. “I should have asked you. I don’t ask very often. I just ‘do’. Sometimes it backfires. I can paint it back the way you had it.”
The smile she gave him half melted his heart. “No. Please don’t. I kind of like it. Something for me to remember you by when you leave.”
Ouch. He winced. That ugly little detail. He would be leaving her in no time. “Next time I’ll ask first,” he promised solemnly, but they both knew that there wouldn’t be a next time. “I've started to like your bossy Type-A style.”
She dipped her head and changed the subject. “So, Mr. Bartender, you feel like giving me a lesson?”
He wasn't sure he heard her correctly. “Exactly what kind of lesson were you looking for?” His libido started to fantasize.
“It’s something on my Thirty list. I had this ridiculous notion after college that I'd find myself and tend bar or something like that to pay the rent. Either that or strip.” She shook her head. “Stupid, right? I was kidding about the stripping part, by the way.”
“Too bad. And no. I'd buy a drink from you any day.”
She grinned at him. “So, how about a lesson?”
His brows drew in. “What? Right now?”
She slipped off her jacket. “Yeah, what’s wrong with now?”
Maybe because he was on edge, because he could still smell her roses shampoo and it was driving him nuts.
She slid back behind the bar with him. “Show me how to make what you gave me the other night. I don’t know what was in that, but it was delicious.”
She brushed against him just enough to have him reciting his favorite childhood baseball players. “Um, that one's pretty easy.” Bending down, he took the ingredients from the fridges under the bar. Setting down the cranberry, orange and pineapple juices, he got a glass and handed it to her. “First, rim the glass.” He winced at the obvious sexual reference. It conjured up all kinds of imagery of the two of them.
She took it from him, her delicate fingers barely brushing his in the transfer. She dipped the glass in the sugar tray.
He placed his hand on hers. “Like this. You’ll want to rim the glass with lemon first. It'll help the sugar stick to the glass.”
She did as he told her, then grinned up at him. “What next?”
“Now add one part pineapple and one part orange juice.”
She used the little measuring cup and he didn't have the heart to tell her no real bartender worth his or her salt would measure the amount of juice that went into a drink. The alcohol, maybe, if trying to save the bar some cash. But not juice. But she liked things to be precise and that’s why he liked her. “Done. What next.”
The way her smile caught the light, Alec knew he was in trouble. If by chance he made it through the next day or so, his fate would be changed forever. He loved her. It was that simple. He didn’t give a shit about consequences. All he knew was that he wanted her. Lists and all. Clearing his throat, he pulled down a bottle of Grand Marnier. “Add a splash of this.”
She frowned. The bottle hovered just over the mixer.
“What’s the matter?”
She chewed her lip. “How much is a splash? More than the juice or less than the juice? Is it a big splash? Can I just measure it, instead?”
He took the bottle from her and set it on the counter. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, you know. It's just a drink.”
She nodded, but he could see the telltale shimmer in her eyes. “Just a drink,” she mumbled.
He shrugged. “Or maybe it's the epitome of your whole life, and your entire existence hinges on getting this drink just right.” He took her hands. “But I promise you. It doesn’t.” Her lips quirked. He continued, “Everything doesn’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be perfect. But newsflash, you’re already pretty perfect to me.”
“Lists and all?”
He flashed her a grin. “Lists and all. Go on, add as much Grand Marnier as you want.” She poured enough to give any drinker a kick.
Handing her the shaker, he said, “Now shake it up and pour.”
As she poured, he tried not to watch her delicate fingers and wonder where they'd be better served. He had to get a grip.
She handed him the glass. “Did I get it right?”
He didn't take a sip.
“You taste it and tell me.”
Her lips parted and his whole body jerked. As the blissful expression crossed her face as she sipped, he smiled. “Good?”
She nodded. “Yeah, tastes just like it.”
“You’re now officially a bartender. You can cross that off your Thirty list.”
Eyeing the go-go dance platforms next to the booths, she smiled. “I have something better to cross off the list.”
