Gigi taught me that. I’ve been thinking about her more lately, especially as my life became more expendable than it was a few weeks ago.
The compound has a bar now, and the bar has a bartender. Maybe now they’ll let me stay, even though my usefulness has ran out.
That maybe is the best feeling in the world. Better than whiskey. Better than sex.
Well… almost better than sex.
Chapter Thirteen: Emilio
Ifindherbehindthe bar.
Not the kitchen, not the corridor, not the gym. The bar. The room I forgot existed until I walked past the open door and heard her laugh. Alexandra's laugh was loud, the two of them drinking at two in the afternoon in a room that used to host dignitaries but has declined alongside Aurelio.
"There you are," I say from the doorway. "I've been looking everywhere."
Alexandra turns on her stool, sees me, and immediately starts packing up her laptop. "And that's my cue." She stands, tucks the laptop under her arm, gives Savannah a look I'm not supposed to see but do anyway. "Have fun, lovebirds."
"We're not lovebirds," Savannah says.
"Sure you're not." Alexandra pats my shoulder on her way past. "Be nice to her."
"I'm always nice."
"You're never nice. That's why she likes you." Alexandra disappears into the corridor, and her footsteps fade and then it's just us. Me in the doorway and Savannah behind a bar she apparently cleaned and restored in the hours I was sleeping.
The room is different from the last time I saw it. Clean, warm, bottles organized on the shelves, the counter polished to a deep amber shine. She's standing behind it with a rag over her shoulder, a glass in her hand, looking more settled than I've ever seen her. This isherspace. She found it, claimed it, and she's standing in it with the easy authority of a woman who knows exactly where she belongs.
She's Goddamn beautiful. I've thought it before but right now, in this light, with the afternoon sun coming through the window and catching the gold in her skin and the curl of her hair where it's come loose from the band, the thought goes past thinking and into something physical. A pull in my chest. A heat low in my stomach.
"You going to stand in the doorway all day?" she asks.
"I'm admiring the view."
"The view is a dirty bar and a tired bartender."
"The view is fucking perfect and the bartender knows it." I walk in, sit on the stool directly across from her. The counter is between us, and somehow the space makes this more erotic than it should. She leans her forearms on it and looks at me. I can see the freckle below her left ear that I didn't notice until the first time I kissed her neck. I can smell the lemon cleaner on her hands. She’s looking like a whole ass meal and it takes everything in me not to hop this bar and devour her where she stands.
"What can I get you?" The question is professional and the tone is not.
"Whiskey, vodka, gin… whatever you're pouring."
She reaches for the Macallan without looking, pulls it off the shelf, and pours two fingers into a glass. The pour is clean, no drip, no hesitation. She slides the glass across the counter, and I catch it and drink without breaking eye contact.
"Good whiskey," I say.
"The previous owner had taste. Everything else about this room was neglected, but the liquor is excellent."
"Kind of like you."
"Excuse me?"
"Excellent but neglected… until someone showed up and gave a shit."
Her eyes narrow but her mouth twitches. "That's either the worst compliment or the best insult I've ever received."
"Can't it be both?"
She leans closer across the counter. Her arms are folded on the wood, and her chin is tilted up and her mouth is right there. They’re pursued and she looks so fucking adorable as she studies me, my cock twitches and I bite back a groan. The bar between us is the only reason I'm still on this stool instead of on top of her.
