Page 45 of Dreamscape Therapies

Jay immediately starts coughing as his face turns red.

"You okay there, Doc?" I laugh.

"I forgot whiskey burns." He points desperately toward the water bottle beside the register. "Water."

I hand it over, and he chugs half the bottle in one go. When he finally stops coughing, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and glares at me.

"How do people enjoy this?"

"Practice."

"It tastes like someone set a cinnamon tree on fire," he bites out between heavy breaths.

"Come on. Let's find something you actually enjoy."

"Not everyone likes drinking a campfire."

He follows me through the kitchen door propped open with an old fire extinguisher that's probably been there since before I bought the building.

One of my cooks looks up from the fryer, and Jay waves enthusiastically. I shake my head at his adorableness, and I'm beginning to suspect that's going to become a problem.

My office isn’t much to look at, just four cinderblock walls, a desk, a safe, and metal shelves packed with boxes of receipts, invoices, vendor catalogs, and promotional junk. No windows. No decorations. Just pure organized chaos.

"I was expecting something more organized." He winces. "Sorry."

"No, you're right." I laugh. "This is probably the only part of my life I don't keep organized."

"Why?"

"Too many people come through here. I'm constantly grabbing something, putting it down, losing it, and finding it again six months later." I gesture at the shelves. "My assistant comes in once a month and rescues me from my mountain of paperwork."

He smiles, wandering farther into the room and looking at everything up close and personal.

There's something strangely intimate about seeing him in here in my space.

"So," he says, turning back toward me. "About that drink."

"Right." I crouch and pull a case of sample cans from beneath my desk. "One of my liquor reps dropped these off yesterday. Apparently they're supposed to be popular. He wants me to add them to my next order."

Jay sits in the chair across from me. "So we're doing research?"

"Exactly."

"Excellent." He grins.

I pull out four cans and read off each label. "Margarita. White Russian. Mai Tai. Lemon drop martini."

"The lemon one." He reaches for it with grabby hands. “Gimme.”

The excitement in his voice is ridiculously cute. When I hand it to him, his fingers brush mine, and that same electric feeling from the first time rolls through my system, only this time I don’t pull away.

He clears his throat and ducks his head. “Thanks.”

"I'll try the margarita,” I say, coughing subtly. "Cheers?"

Jay lifts his can. "Cheers."

We take our first sips and Jay's eyes close. "Mmm." My attention locks on his face as he savors what must be the world’s most amazing beverage. "This is good."