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Playful, bold, talkative, joyful… sweet baby Jesus, sex with her would be magnificent. What a shame she lives in Vermont and I live in Michigan. She’s exactly the kind of woman I’ve spent the last year trying to find.
She’s also the kind of woman who knows how to handle a handsy drunk.
“I think it’s time to cut you off, Jimbo.” For the first time all night, there’s steel at the edge of her smile as she whisks away his half-finished beer and sets a glass of water in front of him. “That goes for you too.”
It takes a bit for me to realize she’s looking my way.
“Me?” My brows lift in surprise as she plunks a club soda in front of me, dropping in a lemon slice and a straw. Then she disappears to the opposite end of the bar, and I push away that rogue fantasy of unwrapping her like an early Christmas gift. No idea why she cut me off, but she’s not wrong that I’ll probably sleep better without extra alcohol sloshing around my system.
Half an hour later, I’m glad to have a clear head because the frat boys have goaded each other into playing the same Taylor Swift song on repeat, and the bartender and I trade mock-horrified expressions.
“Twice was great,” she murmurs, topping off my drink as the jangly intro kicks up again.
I lift it in a toast to the jukebox. “Seven times is too damn much.”
But just as quickly as we lock eyes, she’s moving down the bar to serve another thirsty patron, leaving me with my club soda and a nice view of her legs in that short red dress.
Before I know it, it’s 2 a.m., and the bar’s almost emptied out. I should’ve been back at my hotel ages ago. The last time I was at a bar this late, I was being charming as fuck to a group of women at a bachelorette party, and it paid off handsomely. Tonight, though, I’m content just to exist and contemplate Miss Gouda. There’s wisdom in those fake sapphire eyes.
Red flashes at the edge of my vision, breaking into my comfortable cocoon of warmth and low lights and vintage Christmas tunes. The bartender leans her elbows on the bar in front of me and props her chin in her hands, shooting me one of those megawatt smiles.
“Want to give me fifteen minutes to close up and then we can get out of here?”
I blink. “Sorry, what?” I have to be misunderstanding her.
Her glossy red lips twist into a crooked smile. “I mean, you don’t have to. But there’s a reason I switched you to water a while back.”
Surprise hits me first, followed closely by an excited buzz that has nothing to do with alcohol. “Oh yeah?”
“I want you on your game.” She lifts one shoulder and lets it fall as my hungry eyes track the graceful movement. “Whaddya say?”
I’m so surprised by the unexpected offer that I don’t respond immediately, and she twists her lips into a playful pout.
“Wow, are you really gonna make me beg?”
Fuck it. There’s a chance I’m not going to make it home for Christmas, so this is the gift I’m giving myself.
“I’ll help clear the tables.”
TWO
Sebastian
“Birdy? That’s your name, right?”
We’re bundled together in the back of a Lyft, and I don’t even care that the driver’s eyes are fixed on us in the rearview mirror, clearly enjoying the spectacle of a one-night stand about to get underway.
“It is.”Her voice is amused, her eyes alight, and for a moment it looks like she’s not even going to bother asking for mine like it’s a game we’re playing. But after a beat, she raises her brows. “And you are…?”
“Sebastian St. Claire.”
“Wow. Firstandlast.”
I brush my thumb against the back of her neck and lean close to murmur, “Just giving you options to shout later.”
I almost hate to drop such a blatant line, but it works. Her eyes flare, the sexy confidence that drew my eye in the bar rolling off her in waves. I’m grateful for it. Once I slid into the backseat of this car with her, I wondered if she’d rethink her surprise offer. I’d be fine if she did, obviously, but I’m so damn glad she didn’t.
“Here you go,” the driver says, and I pull my eyes away from Birdy to see we’ve come to a stop in front of my brightly lit Marriott.
