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“Why did you lie if you know I saw you?”
Her hand is on her hip, and a lightning bolt charges through me.
“Canyoujuggle bottles?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
She’s exasperating. “Then why are we having this conversation?”
She laughs. “You’re way too easy to rile. You seem tough, but you’re a big pussycat.”
“Is that what you consider a good time? Riling strangers?”
She elbows my arm, and despite how annoyed I feel, a flash of heat zips from her skin connecting with mine. This is maddening.
“We’re not strangers,” she says. “This is our third encounter. I know your name is Gabe. That you’ve worked this beach bar for five years, and that you love your crabs.”
That again. “The joke is getting old.”
“Nope. It will never get old. And besides, your temper is the first thing I knew about you.”
“I was justifiably angry that your brother was going to crush the crabs.”
“Right, right. Pity the poor dumb tourists afraid of getting their toes snapped off.”
“The crabs are more afraid of you than you are of them.”
“And when they got spooked, some of them ran right toward us!” Her blue eyes flash with anger and my body revs up at the sight of it. What is with my attraction to this impossible woman?
I turn away. “Back to the bottles.”
“Right, I have to choose one to pee in.” She turns a bottle of vodka so that the label faces her. “Any of them will do.”
I assume this is a critique of my selection. “You’re used to higher-end liquor?” I picture her in some stately wood-paneled bar, serving up shots of small-batch whiskey and thirty-year scotch.
“Hardly. It’s a beer-swilling, tequila-shooting crowd.”
Oh. “What are you looking for?” I wave at the collection of bottles on the counter.
“I’m waiting for them to speak to me.”
“Your bottles talk to you in Atlanta? Because mine are the strong, silent type.”
This gets a genuine smile out of her. “You’re one hot mess.” Then she claps her hand over her mouth like she didn’t mean to say it. “Sorry.”
I know she’s only sparring with me, but her words cause that curl in my belly to wind more tightly. “Good. I like to keep my enemies close.”
Now her grin is so wide that her eyes crinkle. “I think our rivalry is going to play well tonight. We just have to pick the drinks. Are you going to do the mermaid sunrise?”
“Sure. Are you going to layer? We could both do one.”
“Love it. You could be the bright side, and I could go dark.”
“Dark liquors?”
“Right. Shades of black and brown. I need one really dark one, though. We’ll have to pick that up.”
I spin more labels so they face out. “Okay, will that one be presentation or taste?”
