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I looked at the gin, remembering his snarky comments from the other night, and I laughed. “I’ll have a French 75, please.” When he lifted his brow, the familiar snark returned to his face. “That is, if you know how to make that.”
“Don’t challenge me. I’m more than capable of making any drink you throw my way.”
I giggled at the defensive stance he took. “We’ll test that sometime, huh?” He rolled his eyes while he added gin, lemon juice, and simple syrup to a shaker with ice. “There is supposed to be champagne in there too.”
“Do you just want to make this yourself?” He didn’t stop shaking the drink, even as he threatened to.
Shaking my head, I adjusted and folded my leg under me on the stool. “Not even kind of. I’m off tonight.”
“Then bite your lip and let me make the damn thing.” He turned around, muttering, “Chicks, I swear.”
I laughed, noticing the way Auston looked between us like he was watching people argue on reality TV. Both of his eyebrows were raised, and I was willing to bet if you handed him popcorn, he’d take it and mindlessly pop kernel after kernel into his mouth without taking his eyes off us.
Logan came back, pouring the pink drink into a glass. He opened the bottle of champagne corked in the fridge, adding it to the glass. A drop missed, sliding down the side to the counter. “Here’s your overly complicated and unnecessary drink.”
The first sip was sweet on my tongue. It was the best French 75 I’d ever had, and it was one I’d made plenty of. I caught the brief look of surprise before it could make itself apparent on my face, taking another sip. Dramatically smacking my lips together, I made a thoughtful humming noise and shrugged.
“It’s okay. It’d be better if it had more lemon in it.” I swirled the glass and took another small sip. “Six out of ten.”
He sneered, turning away to a group of women huddled on the other side of the bar. Auston entertained one of the regulars, pouring his usual cinnamon whiskey shot and telling him a story about his sister and her friends. The man laughed, and the girls by Logan swooned.
I looked around, relaxing my shoulders. It was the first time I’d felt like it wasn’t a mistake to move to Grand Rapids. Most of the people at the bar were pretty cool, and even though Logan was an asshole, he was starting to become moderately tolerable.
Having a challenge wasn’t a bad thing.
When I took another sip of the drink, I caught a whiff of the cheap cologne you could buy in the discount aisle at any grocery store. It smelled the way I expected a college coed bathroom would smell on a Friday night.
“Hey, sweet cheeks.”
My skin crawled, and I composed myself with a deep breath before I turned on the stool. “Excuse me?”
“Sorry, would you prefer I call you by another name?” I recognized him. The same man that had hit on me the night before—the one Logan told to leave. Did he recognize me?
Judging by the blank look in his eye, he didn’t.
“You don’t recognize me, do you?”
He brushed my hair over my shoulder, and I shuddered, bile rising in my throat. I tightened my fist around the glass in my hand. “Of course I do. We had a great time that night.”
I cocked my head. This motherfucker. “What exactly did we do?”
“Baby, I rocked your world, and you don’t remember it?” He looked over his shoulder at a friend that wasn’t there, holding up his hand for a high five he wouldn’t get.
Slipping off the stool, I straightened my spine. “All I remember is you calling me an ugly whore because I didn’t give you my number. Which part of that was world rocking again?” I tapped my finger against my chin in thought.
The man’s eyes widened. “Lucky for you, I’m giving you a second chance to make that a reality.” Did that move ever work for him?
I laughed, throwing my head back and resting my hand against my stomach. “My answer doesn’t change. It’s still a no from me.”
Sudden remembrance painted over his face, and his eyes widened then narrowed. “I remember you now.”
Ding, ding, ding.
I giggled at the invisible bells above the man’s head, simply shaking my own.
“You looked different without your little boyfriend here to babysit you.”
The laugh I released was loud, and it caused more than one head to turn in our direction. I ignored the stares, keeping my eyes pinned on the man across from me. Logan wasn’t my babysitter, and like I’d told him, I didn’t need his help.
