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I mean, upon us.
Right.
Shit. I’m not good at this drinking thing.
“You make a habit out of kissing strange men?” he asks, his voice like some lusty thunder rumbling down inside me.
“Uh, no. Not at all. You’re like, really, my first kiss, kiss. With tongue.”
I see the way his jaw muscle flexes, and I swear I hear a little pop from the pressure he’s putting on his molars. Apparently, vodka also works as a truth serum.
I’m afraid if he throws out the simple, So, how are you doing?, the pity party deluge that would ensue would surely send him back from whence he came. He doesn’t want to know that my up and coming business that made the ‘Hottest New e-commerce UP-AND-COMER’ list two years ago is about to go full tits up if I can’t figure out how to draft some hotshot MBA or VC investor to save my inexperienced ass.
And, if I can’t, then it’s goodbye to the only thing in my life that makes me feel I could be someone. Doing something that makes me stand out. Something that makes me proud of myself.
It will not only mean financial ruin for me, my staff will have to be let go, even the ones that believed in me so much they worked for free for the first six months. The house I bought five months ago for me and my dad will be gone and—God forbid—he and Stacie will be homeless.
Maybe we can all live in my van. Start a vanlife blog…
“Are you listening?” His voice cracks through my manic stream of consciousness, and I squint, then open my eyes again to make sure I’m not dreaming.
“No,” I say. “I honestly wasn’t. I was sort of…” I press my fingertips to my cheeks and pull down, then let go, realizing I’m making myself not only seem crazy, but look crazy too. “I was just…distracted.”
“That I understand. You have me very distracted. I’m…” He hesitates and I see the way his skin pulls around the scars when he talks, and it only makes him more attractive. More…expressive, somehow. “Reginald. What’s your name?”
“Mildred,” I answer, using my full name instead of my nickname only because Reginald sounds so…formal and grown up. I guess I didn’t want to seem childish and insignificant, because that’s sort of how I feel looking up at this magnificent man specimen.
“I am taking a leap here, Mildred, but that guy was not your plus one for tonight.”
“Oh, God no.” I brush my hands down the front of my sweater as though I’m brushing the last of the unfortunate interaction with Mr. Wanna-go-for-a-ride-in-my-Dodge Charger away. “No plus ones for me.”
Reginald gives me a questioning look as I shift my weight back and forth, trying to remember what it is you do with your hands when you are talking to someone.
“You mean, tonight? Or at all?”
I regard him for a moment, the last shot of vodka making my legs feel like I’ve spent too long on a boat in turbulent water.
“What is it you are asking, Reginald? Let’s not be coy, shall we?” I tuck my hair behind my ears as the band plays the last bit of One, Two, Three Times a Lady, and I wonder what song is coming next in this fresh hell of a music parade.
“What I’m asking, my dark little pixie…” He licks his top lip slowly, his hand moving toward my cheek in slow motion, then I feel his fingers tracing what I swear to all the dark Gods that are toying with me right now is a heart. His fingers move to my other cheek and it’s confirmed. He’s tracing hearts on my cheeks. Actual hearts. How am I supposed to resist whatever this hunk of dark magic is doing to me? “I’m asking if you have a boyfriend…”
I snort, then choke on a laugh and shake my head.
“No boyfriends. Or girlfriends. I mean, I have friends that are girls, a few boys long ago that were friends too, but no boy-friends or girl-friends. What about you? You got a plus one here somewhere ready to jump me and gouge my eyes out with her fresh, jewel-encrusted manicure?”
I look around and immediately regret my frame of reference, but I’m already jealous of a woman I don’t even know exists.
His brows cinch together and I know I’m embarrassing myself but I can’t seem to stop, and I know I can’t blame it all on the Stoli.
His hand curls from my cheek to the back of my neck, strong and warm, as his thumb caresses the spot just under my jaw where my pulse is racing like an Indy car toward the checkered flag. The room is suddenly a sauna and I feel like I’m going to spontaneously combust if he doesn’t answer my question.
