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He smirks at me almost naughtily. “When did you plan to drink it?”
Rolling my eyes, I take a sip and fight to hold back a hum of appreciation. “It’s good,” I say begrudgingly. “What is it?”
“It’s my special blend. I’m not sure what to call it. Maybe,” he taps his chin and says with a flirty grin, “the Scrooge Special.”
I give him a dry look. “Great name.”
“Sounds like a winner to me. Since my seasonal Scrooge likes it.”
Before I can retort—what the fuck is a seasonal Scrooge?—he winks and saunters away, taking more orders.
I know I need to get up from this seat, but I’m rooted to it. Since I have nothing else waiting at home for me, I stay. And drink. And enjoy the view.
Chapter 4
Dylan
The Scrooge Special. I laugh to myself, glancing over my shoulder at the alpha with an attitude. I’m surprised he stuck around. When he looked at me when he walked in, I could tell he wanted to be anywhere but here. But he’s still at my bar, so it must be something. I’ll figure it out at some point. Patrons love using bartenders as personal therapists.
Reese sees me staring and smiles. “That one’s a looker. Too bad he can’t keep his eyes off your ass. I don’t have a chance in hell.”
Snickering, I shake my head and hand him a bottle of water. Reese always gets a bottle of water after three Manhattans. It’s almost time for him to go home and I’ll miss his conversation. “Yeah, well, he’s not my type. Too uptight.”
“Dyl, look at him.” Humoring Reese, I glance over my shoulder again to see the alpha with an almost angry look on his face, eyeing the TV in the corner with a Hallmark movie on. “He’s everyone’s type.” I cackle, taking an order beside Reese. “Loosen him up. If anyone can do it, you can. He might have a story.” Reese stops, then perks up. “He can help you with your booth. Look how strong and tall he is.”
“Reese, he barely said two friendly words to me,” I say, leaning against the bar. I’ve been moving around a lot and while I love my job, my feet aren’t immune to the pain. “How can I convince him to help me with decorating my booth? You can tell by the look on his face that he hates the holidays.”
“That’ll make it more fun.” Reese waggles his eyebrows. “Find a way. And you’ll get the alpha to loosen up and help with your booth. Win-win.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Need me to call you a cab?”
He nods, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. “Yeah. I’m not drunk, but it’s too cold to walk the few blocks home.”
After he pays me, I call him a cab. It arrives in a few minutes, and I bid my friend good night. Of course, I’ll see him tomorrow. He doesn’t come in to drink every day, but he does stop by to say hello.
The crowd is winding down, less than ten people still around. I glance down at my watch, shocked to see that it’s after two in the morning. Time sure flies by when you’re mixing drinks.
When I make sure everyone is taken care of, I walk over to my Scrooge. “Doing okay?” He’s been nursing the special I made for him, frowning at the TV, and scowling when a new holiday song starts playing. I’m not sure why he’s still here, knowing he hates the holidays.
His face is expressionless. “Fine. How much for this?” He doesn’t name it, but I know he remembers what I called it.
“On the house.”
“I don’t want your charity,” he bites out.
“Too festive for you?” I ask jokingly.
His face morphs with a few emotions and settles on exasperation. “No. I just don’t take charity. How much?”
“It really is on the house. It’s not on the menu yet. I just wanted someone who didn’t know me to tell the truth. And you came through. Thanks for that.”
He scowls again, shaking his head and finishing the drink. “Thanks for making me your guinea pig. Merry fucking Christmas indeed.” He slams the glass down and scowls more.
“What’s your deal, alpha?” I ask, jutting my hip out to lean against the counter behind the bar. “You’ve been growly since you walked in here. Tell me what the deal is. You’ll feel better.”
He eyes me, staring for a few moments, probably used to people cowering from his gaze. I’m used to it, working around drunk alphas all the time—I’m immune.
When he sees it’s not affecting me, he sighs and pushes the glass to me. “Fix me another Scrooge Special and I’ll dump all over you.”
