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“Intrigued,” she replies.
I smile.
She hasn’t forgotten anything either.
“I’m single, what are you going to do? Fuck up my plans like when we were 15?”
She laughs, and I take in the face the feeling that this sound causes in my chest. I take more sips, again, finishing my glass with concerning speed.
What the fuck are you doing to me, Scarlett?
“I’ll pass. I’m not 15 anymore.”
I know.
“And from what I see, you’re already on track too,” I say without holding back.
I scan an invisible spot, ignoring the reaction my comment provokes in her. I missed an opportunity to shut my mouth but seeing the table with the other guy, it came out on its own.
Well done, Nolan. Very discreet.
“Jealous?”
I chuckle, because it’s becoming a habit to askthisquestion. A kind of game. A test, just to see how the other reacts. In the shitty comments to piss off the other, she and I are pretty good. Except that here, it is strangely rhetorical. Yes, I’m jealous. And I don’t even want to know why, how, or since when. I put an elbow on the bar to turn further in her direction and watch her for a second. She leaned forward to place a quick order with the bartender. Hands on the bar, her ass is slightly elevated, and the visual is brutal.
Jean Levi’s.
White top.
She’s hot.
I’m in deep shit.
I look away immediately, focusing on the waitress, from whom I catch a few staring glances.
“Right here!”
Scarlett snaps her fingers under her nose, and I stifle a laugh as the bartender jumps. She frowns, bites her cheek, and takes the order.
“You’re a pain in the ass,” she squeaks. “I’m sure she didn’t listen to half of what I ordered.”
“I can’t help it if my legendary charm makes women drool.”
“Be charming somewhere else, while she makes my drinks,”Scar says.
I laugh, crossing my arms. Our shoulders brush against each other but neither she nor I move.
“What did you want?”
“Two gins, a mojito, and a Coke.”
“You’re not drinking?” Nolan asks.
“Paige. She’s driving tonight.”
I nod, glance at the waitress, and make sure the order is done. Ignoring the warmth of our arms touching, I try to ignore Scar’s presence as she moves more and more in time with the music. A Latino music that makes me want to take her to the dance floor just to see her ass wiggle in her jeans.
“Besides, I’m happy,” she blurts out point-blank. “For you and me.”
