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“Thanks, Mr. Sandstein. I’ll keep that in mind.”
* * *
The Lounge was crowded,people milling around the bar because all the stools were claimed. I looked around for my date, coming up empty. After circling the bar and making my way into the dining area, I spotted him sitting in a booth with another man. Dread and disappointment coiled in my belly. I could feel this night taking a downhill turn already. Approaching the table on nervous feet, I hesitated, waiting for Eric to acknowledge me. He focused his attention on the other man, who looked me over through narrowed eyes.
“Is this him? Your hot date?” he snickered sarcastically, his cruelty biting through my confidence.
“Hi, I’m Ryan.” I turned to my date. “Hi, Eric.”
He finally turned his attention to me, smiling politely. “Hey. Glad you could make it. This is my friend, Marc. I ran into him at the bar. You don’t mind if he joins us, do you?”
Did I mind? Did unicorns shit rainbows?I had a feeling Marc was a past hookup or unrequited crush, from the way Eric made eyes at him. Reluctantly, I scooted into the booth, stuck at the very end like a proverbial third wheel. I felt removed from their conversation and isolated. My eyes wandered around the bar, looking for Carson. I’d yet to see him. Maybe he wasn’t working tonight? It was difficult to tell with so many people all crowded together.
My date and his date continued to ignore me until our server approached.Carson. Looking hotter than he had any right to. He did a double take when his eyes passed over me, coming back to rest on my face with an interested gleam. I returned his appreciative smile with a shy one. “Hey,” I said.
“I wondered if I’d see you again. Friends?” He gestured to Eric and Marc.
“Hardly,” I mumbled. Then, in a louder voice, because I was already willing to cut my losses, I explained, “Eric is my date. And this is Marc, the guy he wishes he was here on a date with. Can you bring me a straight shot of bourbon followed by whatever you feel like I might need to get through this evening?”
Carson glared menacingly at the guys at my table, then silently moved away. While he stood behind the bar, pouring drinks, he watched me, studied me, shaking his head. Was he pissed on my behalf? Was he judging me for my stupidity? Why did I even care? But, I did. And the possibility that his opinion of me might be dropping lower each second I continued to sit here spurred me to action. I stood, tossed a careless wave over my shoulder, and approached the bar, snagging an empty seat just as someone vacated it.
“Took you long enough.” Carson snickered, recapping the bottle of liquor. “Here, consider this your blank slate.”
The squat glass tumbler held a pretty pink liquid and a lemon rind. I didn’t know what was in it and I didn’t care. It looked delicious and I hoped it held plenty of alcohol.
“It’s a Fizzy Flamingo. Vodka, club soda, sweet vermouth, and a splash of grenadine.” I tossed back a large gulp and winced. Carson leaned forward with a smirk. “Oops. Must have forgotten the club soda.” He winked, and I knew it wasn’t an accident. He was trying his best to loosen me up, and I was grateful for his effort as I finished off the drink on my second swallow. A sweet heat warmed my throat as I swallowed, instantly improving my mood.
“Another one.” I smacked the glass down with a thud and wiped my mouth with the cocktail napkin.
“Take it easy there, Jake. The night is still young, and I have a feeling you aren’t leaving anytime soon.”
“Jake?” How typical. He’d already forgotten my name. I certainly hadn’t forgotten his.
“Yeah, the insurance guy from the commercial.” Carson chuckled at his humor, waiting for me to join in. At least he hadn’t forgotten my career choice.
“I’ve got just the drink for you. It’s more juice than alcohol.” He fetched a tall skinny glass from the overhead rack and filled it with vodka, cranberry and pineapple juice, blue curacao, and grenadine. It made a bold purple color and looked exotic. I loved watching him mix drinks. It really was an art form, and watching his biceps flex added to the appeal.
I tasted the cocktail and licked my lips. It was sweet, but the vodka cut through the sugar, balancing the flavors nicely. “What is this?”
“Purple Rain.” He shrugged. “I’m a Prince fan.” I smiled along with him as I sipped my drink and watched as he flitted around the bar, collecting empty glasses and refilling others. I should really head back home and cut my losses, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave. The lure of watching Carson tend bar was a bigger draw than my pajamas and another episode ofThe Great British Bake Off.
When Marc and Eric walked by us, draped over each other and laughing, they didn’t spare me a second glance. Carson frowned. “Where do you find these guys?”
“A dating app? I’ll admit I’m having terrible luck lately.”
Carson narrowed his eyes. “A dating app? You mean Grindr.”
“What? No! Something more respectable than that.” I was lying through my perfectly straight white teeth.
“Let me see your profile. Maybe I can help. Point out where you’re going wrong.”
Over my dead body was I letting him see my profile. It was beyond humiliating that a guy who fucked me only a week ago, a pity fuck, really, was now offering me dating advice so I could entice someone else to pity fuck me as well.No thanks.
Carson reached for his phone and tapped the screen. A moment later, I heard the telltale chime letting him know a match was in his immediate vicinity.
He smiled devilishly. “Found it!” My humiliation was complete. “Boytoy6969? No wonder you can’t find a decent guy. Your profile is a walking, talking advertisement to get fucked and ghosted. Nobody is going to take you seriously with this garbage.”
I tried futilely to swipe his phone from his grasp, not that I had any right to it, but Carson evaded me easily, laughing.
