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None of it exactly calculated to flatter his ego.
She wondered what Parisian Katie would say in this situation, but that was a dead end. Parisian Katie would never get herself into a scrape like this. Worldly, cosmopolitan women took their lovers to bed, sent them out for coffee and pastry in the morning, and then shooed them home. They didn’t find themselves marooned on couches with drunk celebrities, searching for the right words.
She looked at her hands. “I guess I just don’t want to.”
“I thought you were into me.”
“I thought I was, too. Sorry.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re apologizing?”
“If I gave
you … you know. Blue balls or whatever.”
He made a huffing sound of disbelief and shifted a little on the couch. “My balls will survive.”
She could think of no possible follow-up line to that, so they just sat there for a while, awkwardly silent as she tried to work out what to do next.
He didn’t seem in any hurry to evict her. She wasn’t in a rush to get back to her room, either—not after what had just happened. Her emotions were a whirling, tangled mess, and she’d rather not sort them out in bed, a few feet away from Sean.
She’d rather not think about Sean at all. All day long, Sean-related thoughts had been demonstrating a decided tendency to colonize her brain. They multiplied when she wasn’t paying attention.
“Can I stay here for a few minutes?” she asked.
“Stay as long as you like.”
He sounded unfazed by the prospect. It was vaguely insulting, how little he seemed to care that she’d just climbed of his lap. Were women just that interchangeable to him? If she walked out now, would he order another one up from room service?
And what kind of idiot found that insulting? Just seconds ago, she’d been thanking her lucky stars.
Judah pushed to his feet abruptly, startling her. “Relax,” he said. “I’m just grabbing the bottle.”
He carried the tequila over from the bar and lined the shot glasses up on the back of the couch.
“Hold these.”
“I don’t need another one.”
“We have to finish the bottle. Bad luck not to finish it, once it’s open.”
“That’s not a real rule.”
“Sure it is.”
“I used to tend bar, Judah. It’s definitely not a rule.”
He winked. “We’ll call it a guideline, then.”
“Do you always finish every bottle of everything?”
“I try.”
“That’s kind of scary.”
Judah smiled. “It’s also kind of easy to do when you drink in threes.” He slopped tequila onto her hand, and it dripped onto the upholstery, but he didn’t seem to notice. He skipped the salt and the lime, handing her the glass.
She rolled the glass between her palms and watched him knock back his shot.
