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In the two hours since we left work, Max has managed to get every little detail of my encounter with Ben, and the more I speak about it, the more I think about it and the more I think about it, the more I feel the ghost of his lips and that phantom ache between my thighs that I have been desperately trying to ignore.Especially since Max seems to be comparing Ben to Josh, quite vocally.
The bartender, who we have since learned is Alex - twenty-three years old and stupidly easy to talk to - leans forwards with his tattooed hand supporting his chin as he listens to us ramble, offering his own advice that essentially adds up to ′bone them both′ every so often.
“So, what are you going to do about it?” Max holds up his beer in a signal for two more and Alex pushes himself up off of the bar, fetching us more drinks.
I think I could like Alex. He’s useful.
“Nothing.” I untie my hair and run my fingers through it as Max raises an eyebrow at me. “There’s nothing to be done. It shouldn’t have happened and I’m not planning on repeating it.”
“But Mik.” His voice takes on a whiny tone as he places his hand on my knee and leans in. “That kiss sounded epic. It sounded steamy and heated and when you described it you…”
His eyes slip to the door as a gust of wind blows in and his voice trails to a stop.
“Max?” I twist in my seat and my heart drops into my stomach. The effort it takes to breathe suddenly makes it feel like I’ve stepped into a vacuum.
“Incoming,” Max murmurs and Alex glances over to the man who just entered this little hole in the wall as he places the drinks down in front of us.
“This the blue guy?” Alex whispers.
“Not quite.” Max clamps his smile shut and widens his eyes.
“Well, shit.” I can hear the laughter in Alex’s words.
I swallow. “Yep. Shit.”
