“Itwas,” I agreed. “And yet…”
He didn’t smile. Just stared. “You’re dangerous… Were you even old enough to be ogling me in that scene?”
“I was thirteen. I was atpeakogling age.”
“And I was, what, nineteen?”
“And yourockedsome red leather pants, my friend.”
His gaze didn’t falter, but he huffed before rolling his eyes. He took anotherlonglook at me before grabbing something from behind the bar. “What are you drinking?” He nodded towards the empty glass in my hand.
“Lemon Drop.”
He waved the bartender over, requesting two more drinks.
“Oh my-”
“Don’t say it.” He laughed a little, but there was a smile hiding behind his mock-serious eyes. “Yes,Ansel Barloweis buying you a drink. Try not to overreact.”
I nodded vigorously.
My cheeks were already hot, and it wasn’t just the vodka. This was the kind of moment I’d imagined a hundred different ways — usually alone, in the bath, with candles burning and shame knocking on the door. And now here it was, real. Tangible. Ansel Barlowe ordering me a drink like it was nothing.
LikeIwas nothing new.
But I wasn’t thirteen anymore. AndAnsel Barlowewas sitting next to me. He wasn’t just laminated in a magazine and hidden under my bed.
He washere. Real and infuriating and stupidly hot.
By the time the drinks arrived, I was warm everywhere.Everything around me continued to spin. Ansel didn’t say much else, much to my dismay.
And yet somehow, there was a certain sort of drunken comfort that came from sitting next to him.
I just prayed I would remember this in the morning.
CHAPTER 2
My head wassplitting.
Right in half.
Directly into two pieces.
I was going to throw up or pass out.
Or both.
Slowly, I forced my eyes open, blinking away the stupor and the floaters.
I’m getting old.
I sat up, only having a moment of relief before I took in my surroundings.
Shit.
I blinked again. The rug. The coffee table. The smell of his stupid designer candle.
Shit. I was at Joel’s.
