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Before rejoining her friends, she stared at herself in the full body mirror. She had on a pair of snug jeans, her high-heeled sandals, and the black designer T-shirt that looked deceptively simple but actually had slightly puffed sleeves and a rectangular gap that rested demurely on her cleavage. Not bad. The beginning of lines along her mouth, a slightly larger than average nose, her gray-brown eyes that stared back at her, panicked. She couldn’t do it. She’d go back to her friends, ask for a ride home, and call it a night.
When she came out of the bathroom, her friends were gone.
Chapter 3
No Harm In Pretending
There was no tip from the soldiers, but the four ladies who had just left were very generous. He opened the till and started checking the evenings’ takes. If this was a typical night, his brother wasn’t making too much money here, and this wasn’t an actual option for Erez. He grabbed several empty glasses and started stocking the dishwasher.
“Will you…will you make me another mojito?”
He nearly jumped out of his skin. There she was, drop dead gorgeous, from her long-lashed doe eyes to her lush chestnut hair and full, inviting lips. He’d been staring at her covertly all evening. Her snug jeans and a black T-shirt accentuated her hourglass figure.
“Hi, are you okay? I thought you left with your friends. Do you need me to call a cab?”
She took a deep breath, as if to steel herself for something. He exercised a fair amount of willpower and kept his eyes above her neck.
“You know, I stayed for you.” Her low, slightly hoarse voice sent shivers down his spine.
He stared at her openmouthed, then consciously closed it.
“Me?”
“Yes. Around here, you have a reputation. That you specialize in…short-term relationships. And I’m looking for one. For tonight only.”
His fingers jolted, and the glass he held dropped and shattered on the floor.
“Shit,” they said together.
Oh, fuck. She thought he was his brother, Eitan, who had apparently built quite the reputation in a very short time.
“You’re looking for a one-night stand?” he croaked. He looked around, searching for the broom and dustpan, and found them in an alcove behind the beer boxes.
The small, confident smile she had on her lips when she propositioned him vanished. She caught her lower lip with her teeth and dropped her gaze, high color in her cheeks. The moment hung between them, hurried and awkward.
He fumbled to amend his words. "Sorry, it’s just... you're so beautiful."
His words were a confession, a vulnerable admission of the effect she had on him. Get it together, Erez. He wasn’t like Eitan. He liked to date a woman he took to bed, to talk to her and woo her, and have longer relationships. Although ultimately, just like his baby brother, he never persisted. He had been married once, and once was quite enough.
He cleared his throat. She raised those long-lashed eyes and waited for him to speak. Surely he could channel his brother for one night. He hadn’t gotten laid in quite a while, so this was good. A one-night stand. There was no harm in the occasional tryst or in pretending to be his brother.
“I’d be happy to oblige.” Now he sounded like an English lord. Her lush mouth curved, her innate confidence returning. Good. He liked her better this way. He added, “I need to do the closing first. Of the bar.”
“Oh! I’ll help you! We can talk. But!” She raised a long index finger, the nail uncolored. “I don’t want to know what you do, or your aspirations, assuming it’s not to be a barman. Just your first name. I’m Dafna.” She gave him a megawatt smile.
He was duly dazzled.
“Hi Dafna, I’m Erez. Let me make you the mojito you asked for.”
He handed her the fresh drink and resumed sweeping the broken glass. She closed her plump mouth on the short straw and sipped her drink. He stared, the broom forgotten in his hands. She licked her lips. His cock stirred, making his jeans grow tighter and uncomfortable. But he wouldn’t arrange them. Not in front of her.
“So…” she said, “I was told you’re twenty-nine years old, but you know, that’s fine.”
His brother was twenty-nine. He was thirty-six. A boring accountant who worked way too hard, aimed to work harder, not to mention a side gig of due diligence on a startup. But for one evening, he could play at being bold and young and reckless, like Eitan. He emptied the swept glass into the trash can and resumed arranging dirty cups in the dishwasher, the physical work oddly fulfilling.
“I have two sons,” Dafna continued. “My eldest, he’s nearly sixteen, he wanted to know the age of girls he’s allowed to date. So, I told him about a rule my father taught me as a girl. You take the older partner’s age, divide it by two, then add seven years. My son is sixteen, so he can’t really deviate far, fifteen that’s all he gets.” She smiled. Erez’s own daughter was thirteen, and he didn’t need any calculations, she was way too young for dating anyone. Period.
She finished her drink and pushed the glass toward him. Her index finger grazed the back of his hand. The brief touch held a promise, a tantalizing glimpse of what could be. Dafna swallowed, then cleared her throat, her voice still carrying a hint of breathlessness as she forged ahead.
