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“No ice?” she asks when I hand her the drink I’ve fixed her and stand in front of her, effectively caging her in.
“You want ice in yours?” I ask her.
“I mean in yours,” she says softly, her voice a bit huskier than it was a moment ago. She says the words quickly as well. As though she’s afraid I’d mistake her questioning my drink for being unhappy with her own.
“No ice in mine. You like it?” I ask her, nodding to the drink in her hand and she nods back, biting down on her lip.
“Good.”
I watch as her breathing comes in harder. I let my left hand fall to her thigh and then slip slowly down, trailing my fingers across her soft skin before gripping the edge of the barstool she’s sitting on. Even with her up this high, I still tower over her. She’s a petite little thing.
“You come on strong,” she says, peeking up at me through her thick lashes. “Do you know that?”
I nod my head once and search her face for her reaction. “I don’t do small talk,” I tell her, thinking that’s what she wants to hear.
“What if I want small talk?” she asks me without any trace of humor in her voice.
I make a show of taking an exaggerated look out the back window and tell her with a smile, “The weather’s nice tonight.”
She laughs at my stupid joke and the tension eases. Taking a step back, I pull out the barstool next to her further and take a seat.
“It’s hard to get a read on you,” I tell her and take another sip of the whiskey. It warms my chest as it goes down. It’s the good stuff, not that cheap shit I have back at my place.
“Mm-hmm, I’m such a puzzle,” she says flatly although I think it’s meant to be taken with humor. There’s something else there, some hint of truth that keeps me from laughing.
“Where are you from?” I ask her, keeping that small talk suggestion of hers in mind. I thought she’d be a bit easier than this. I know she wants it. And she knows I do too.
“Brunswick,” she says, holding my gaze.
“Small world; I’ve got family in Brunswick,” I tell her and start to think about my mother and the last time I was there. I regret referring to her as family the moment the word is out of my mouth. With both hands on my drink, I try to think of something else to talk about. The beer’s already hitting me though, clouding my mind with memories I don’t want to relive. Thankfully, she changes the subject.
“So, whose place is this?” she asks me and I tilt my head in James’s direction, back by the arcade games. “His father’s.” Spoiled rich kid is a term I’d use to describe James. I don’t really like him. Then again, I don’t much like anyone.
“Lot of alumni here,” she says beneath her breath, glancing at the row of photographs on the walls rather than at James.
“Your family go here?” I ask her and she shakes her head. The only people I know who are here because it’s their family’s college are Kev and James. My family sure as shit didn’t go to college.
“You’re good at small talk,” she says sweetly. “Maybe you should lead with that next time.”
“Next time?” I ask her, cocking a brow and leaning forward.
“Yeah, next time, with the next girl you try to pick up,” she says, and her legs swing slightly from side to side like she’s getting a kick out of teasing me.
“You should know better than that,” I tell her.
“Oh? Is this your last time?” She leans forward slightly. “You’re done with your old ways and I’m the only one for you?” she says, mocking me.
“As in, you should know better than to think I’m giving up on chasing you until I get what I want,” I correct her and hold her gaze. She breaks it though, easing back against the wall and crossing her ankles as she watches the pool game. The hard spheres crashing against one another and the crowd’s reaction when one sinks makes me turn around for a moment.
“I like the chase,” she says and then reaches out to brush her knuckles against my arm. “I bet you could catch me fast if I let you.”
I huff a laugh and smirk at her. “If you let me?”
“Yeah,” she says with a note of temptation in her voice like she’s baiting me, then takes another drink.
“Allie Cat, you don’t fool me. You love this little cat and mouse game.”
“If I’m the cat, that means you’re the mouse?” she asks me and it’s only then that I realize what I said and how I said it. Maybe the whiskey’s already getting to me.
