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“It hurt your feelings to hear she’s getting married again?”
I frown. “No. Not the way you mean it. It depressed me to hear from her, actually. I thought she was out of my life.”
“Is that why you went on Tinder?”
“A bit, yeah.”
“Are you broken-hearted?”
“No,” I reply, realizing it’s true. “I’m annoyed, if anything, that she thinks she can say jump and I’ll jump, no questions asked.” Yeah, it’s anger and resentment I’m feeling right now. Not hurt.
Alice’s dark-blue eyes study me. Then she gestures at the phone. “So what does she want now?”
I pick up the phone, open the message, and read it out. “Just wondering if you’ve changed your mind and you’d like to come over. I’m at the Five Palms.” I put the phone down and look back at her.
“Nice hotel,” she says.
“Yeah.”
“You want to go over there?”
“No.”
“I’d understand.”
“The answer’s still no.”
“I bet she knows where the handbrake is.”
I give a short laugh. Then I pick up my phone. “I’m not interested in any woman who’d cheat on her partner.”
“So you’re seriously telling me you’d rather stay here with a twenty-five-year-old virgin who can’t even work out which slot is which?”
“I’d rather stay with the gorgeous blonde who makes me smile.”
Her brows draw together. “She didn’t make you smile?”
“Not nearly enough.” I hold down the off button on my phone, then slide the power button to the right, and the phone goes dark. I put it down, feeling a swell of relief. She can’t contact me now. It’s surprisingly liberating.
I look back at Alice. She meets my eyes and gives a beautiful, shy smile. “Are you going to kiss me again?”
“Oh, I think so, don’t you?”
“Will you use your tongue this time?”
I just adore this girl. “Do you want me to?”
She thinks about it. “Mmm.”
I check the bar; nobody’s watching.
“Come here.” I slide my hand to the back of her neck and pull her toward me.
Dean Martin has given way to a general Christmas playlist, and now George Michael is singingLast Christmas, telling his partner that they still catch his eye. I brush my thumb across the soft skin of Alice’s neck, think about kissing her, my senses leaping into life. I can smell the cinnamon and orange from the pot of potpourri next to the candle, and the deep scent of her perfume, something with jasmine. The bar suddenly seems rich with color—the dark burgundy of the carpet, the green foliage of the wreath pinned above the bartender, the scarlet of the poinsettia sitting on the corner of the bar, the golden wall lights, the blue of Alice’s eyes. Man, she’s beautiful. She makes my heart race.
I kiss her slowly, starting with soft butterfly kisses. She sits stiffly at first, and then gradually, like a chocolate button placed on a radiator, softens and melts against me. Encouraged, I open my mouth and touch my tongue to her bottom lip. She inhales and her lips part. I do it again, giving gentle, subtle touches of my tongue to her lips. Each one makes her inhale with a little gasp. And then eventually, she brushes her tongue against mine.
Heat rushes through me, but I hold back, letting her explore, as if I’m encouraging a deer to come toward me in the forest. She rests her hand on my chest, then slowly slides it up until her fingers find the hollow at the base of my throat. She strokes it with her thumb, then continues to move her hand to my neck and jaw, her fingers brushing my beard, while she grows bolder and thrusts a little with her tongue.
