“Lots of them,” I assure him. I flag the bartender down and order two Redheaded Sluts.
My companion giggles at the name.
How would he react if I order us a couple of Blow Jobs?“I’m Euan, by the way,” I say, holding my hand out to him.
“Euan,” he repeats, rolling his tongue around my name, tasting it as tentatively as he tasted the shot. He takes my hand and shakes it, lingering. “I’m Alex.”
Chapter Three: Alex
“Proposals shouldn’t be so hard,” I complain, stretching my arms across the table and resting my head on one. After the third or fourth shot, Euan ordered us a couple of cocktails instead and suggested we move to one of the booths. They offered more privacy, the perfect environment for two depressed men to pour out their woes. “All you should have to say is ‘will you marry me’ and then they say—”
“Yes,” Euan replies, his mouth twisting into a smile.
My heart skips a beat, and I can’t look away from his firm lips. I’ve found myself watching them more than I probably should. Maybe it’s because of his dark, neat beard. It’s hard to see anything else when it so perfectly frames them.
Well, that’s not true. I can also see the solid line of his jaw under the beard. The prominence of his Adam’s apple bobbing every time he takes a drink. The breadth of his shoulders. When we’d both stood up, I could tell he was a few inches taller than me. If he tilted his chin just right, he could rest it on top of my head.
He’s looking at me expectantly, his eyes so dark they’re almost black in the low light.
I lick my lips, tasting the lingering sweetness from the most recent cocktail, which I can’t even remember the name of.I like sweet things.I’d be a fucking fool to not understand he was coming onto me. And an even bigger fool if I didn’t take this chance.
That’s what you do after a bad breakup, right? Get drunk and find solace in the nearest warm body.
Alright, so I’ve never actually had a one-night stand before, but it’s certainly what myfriendsdid. Though I don’t think any of them have ever broken up with someone at dinner and then found someone new that night. I should give myself time to mourn my failed relationship before jumping into bed with the first attractive person who pays attention to me.
Especially since it’s been almost nine years since I last slept with a man.
I finally break eye-contact with him, determined to keep this … not platonic, exactly. But there’s no need tothrowmyself at him.
“So, she turned down your proposal,” Euan says, prompting a return to our conversation.
I nod, rubbing my head against my arm, probably messing my curls up further. At this rate, they’ll be standing straight up by the end of the night. “Yeah. Well, no. But also yeah.”
He arches an eyebrow and sips his drink carefully. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make fun of my complete non-answer. He just watches and waits.
I sigh deeply, my eyes drooping shut. “I proposed once before, and she turned me down because it wasn’t how she imagined it. I knew she wanted a public proposal, but those are extra embarrassing. Because what if someonehearsyou and theyknowwhat you’re doing and they’re secretly hoping for your public humiliation?”
He hums and agrees, “That’s a lot of pressure.”
“Itis. So I did it quietly, in one of our favorite date night places. Except she wasn’t expecting it, so she was wearingcasual clothes, and hadn’t gotten her nails done, and we hadn’t ordered anything different from usual to make itspecial. So she turned me down and asked me to try again. To put a little more thought into it.”
Like you always do,she’d said with a confident smile.
“How long did it take you to plan the second one?” Euan asks.
“Two weeks. I probably could have done it sooner, but I wanted to practice my speech. Personalize it. Make it special.”
“Because that’s what you wanted or because that’s what she expected?”
I’m quiet for a moment as I consider his words. “I wanted to make her happy, y’know?”
“I know,” he says, so gently that I believe him.
I sigh again. He’s quiet for a long while, and it’s only when I hear a clink next to my head that I realize it’s because he was getting us another drink. I sit up and blindly reach for the glass, slurping messily from the rim. A trickle of the peach flavored concoction drips down my chin, dangerously close to staining my shirt.
Euan reaches out and drags his thumb up the line, all the way to my lips. His finger is calloused, just rough enough to really feel him. Then he brings his thumb to his mouth and carefully licks off the liquor that had so recently graced my skin. His tongue peeks out, carefully cleaning the digit. His dark eyes remain locked on mine the whole time.
Heat pools in my stomach as I watch him. What would it feel like if he licked up the trail directly instead of brushing it away? Warm, wet, confident.
