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I blow out a breath. “But I was super nervous.”
“About what?”
My damn blush is back, “Going on a first date?”
I mumble the words, but he still hears me. “That’s understandable.” He reaches out and taps a finger against the side of my glass. “Is it good?”
My eyes follow the movement, “The drink? Yeah. I think the server hooked me up with some top shelf stuff because I can hardly taste the alcohol.”
His hand closes around the glass. “Do you mind?”
My pulse quickens even more. “You want to try it?”
“I let you taste mine.”
Breathing is hard.
When did breathing get so hard?
“Okay,” I whisper my agreement.
Before he picks up the glass, he uses his fingertips to spin it until my nearly invisible lip marks are facing him.
And I swear the blue of his eyes darkens as he lifts my drink.
I make sure my mouth stays shut as I watch his lips press against the chilled glass. His thick neck working as he swallows down a mouthful of the red liquid, and I feel that movement everywhere.
Sweet baby Jesus, this is how I die.
I’m going to self-combust in this bar. I’ll turn into a pile of ash that they’ll sweep away with the discarded straws at the end of the night.
“Good?” I ask, surprised I can even speak.
“It’s sweet.” He places the drink back in front of me. “I didn’t think it’d be my thing, but…”
“But?” I prompt when he doesn’t finish.
“But now that I’ve tasted it, I think I might need more.”
Oh, pretty, pretty please be talking about me.
My finger drags across the rim of the glass as I open my mouth to say something, then think better of it.
Of course, he notices. “What is it?”
“I just was thinking that maybe you weren’t a drinker.” I shrug. “Since you ordered the coffee.”
“I’m usually a whiskey and coke guy, but not when I’m driving. And it’s been a long week, so I needed the caffeine boost.”
My heart melts a little. “That’s smart.”
“I try to be.” His eyes narrow on mine, “Are you driving tonight?”
“Definitely not.” Just thinking about having to drive makes me feel drunker, and I press the tip of my finger against a drop of condensation on the side of my glass. “I’ve actually had a couple of these,” I admit, giving him a sheepish smile. “I was nervous, which is why I chose hard liquor over cider. Figuring it might boost my courage. But then the server just kept bringing them, and I kept drinking them…” I let the sentence trail off before admitting, “I’ve probably had too much.”
There’s a long beat of silence and my nervousness starts to pick up.
Then Axel asks, “Why are you here?”
