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Honestly, I could’ve done without drinking the actual thing. The alcohol burned my unaccustomed throat and had me making weird flinching faces. Luckily, my roommate thought it was hilarious and didn’t mind that her money didn’t result in my enjoyment but instead an amusing show for her.
So the taste wasn’t for me, but the creation process was mesmerizing. The skilled man poured amber liquid into a glass that was both elegant and sturdy, then tucked the drink under a glass dome where he piped a copious amount of smoke, enough to infuse the drink with its flavor.
I sat at the bar, hypnotized.
Cole is that drink, standing in front of me, all gorgeous and tempting like tendrils of smoke that promise you can drink them down.
If I got the chance to taste him, I’d probably act just as foolish as I did with my glass of bourbon.
“Anything else you want to know?” Cole’s question brings me back to the present.
“Everything. I want to know everything.”
Oh no. I just said that out loud. And I’m staring at him.Stop staring at him.
Cole watches me, cold eyes examining my overeager face.
Why can’t I ever be cool? Aloof? Mysterious?
But no. I’m eager. I’m helpful. My coworkers often call me peppy. They ask if I was a cheerleader in high school.
They wouldn’t ask that if they saw a picture of me in high school.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
Damn. I want to lie, but it’s not like I was thinking of what he looks like naked. Which I have thought about. Too many times.
So I answer with the truth. “How I had to wear braces for all four years of high school.”
Cole blinks at me. “You’re thinking about braces?”
I nod. “What areyouthinking about?” My voice is all excitement, ready to get a small peek into his brain.
I bet it’s a fascinating brain.
My heart gives in to the sudden urge to beat harder in my chest. Not necessarily faster, just with more conviction than normal. I can feel each valve’s contraction.
We’re standing close, gazing at each other in a deserted parking lot. A strange thought pops into my head.
He’s going to ask me out.
“I need to get home,” Cole says, all cool detachment.
My heart valves shudder and give up their confident stride. They settle back into their unnoticed rhythm of beating.
Cole does not want to date me.
I try my best to ignore the melancholy this realization brings.
Stop being ridiculous.He is a bad boy. Just look at him.
Cole is all smoldering temptation and heartbreaking hotness. He is exactly the type of man made to destroy a woman.
And I will not be destroyed.
This is good. He doesn’t want to date me, and that is good.
I repeat the mantra to myself as I step back so he can open the door. I chant it to a marching tune as I lay my share of his book burden on the front seat of his truck. I mouth it as I move so he can close the door again.
