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“Want to go out for drinks?”
Eric didn’t say anything. I forced myself to look up. He didn’t look embarrassed, just kind of bemused. I cleared my throat and tried again.
“I don’t know about you, but this job matters to me. And we’re working together, so shouldn’t we talk? Shouldn’t we find some way to live with each other?”
Eric’s frown deepened. “I’m not a big drinker. But, fine, one or two.”
“Great. Go get ready. I’ll meet you downstairs.” I ducked back inside before he could change his mind, and half an hour later, we were at some club he’d found, some champagne-and-glitz place with a VIP floor. Eric ordered a whisky and I got a frozen Bellini, and when our drinks arrived, he snorted at mine.
“What’s that, a rum slushie?”
“Prosecco and peaches.” I stuck out my tongue at him and took a long sip. It gave me brain freeze, and I pressed my palm to my face.
Eric sipped his own drink. “So, uh… read any good books lately?”
I stopped massaging my forehead. “What’s that supposed to mean? I ordered a silly drink, so I can’t read?”
Eric’s brows shot up. “Okay, you know what? Let’s not even talk till we’ve both had a drink. Let’s loosen up, and then we can—”
“You’re tellingmeto loosen up? Mr. ‘Whisky. Neat.’?” I grumbled his order, imitating his voice. Eric flipped me off and knocked back his drink. I couldn’t chug mine as fast, but I took a good belt. The taste was refreshing, fruity and sweet. The prosecco bubbles made my nose fizz.
“You’re smiling,” said Eric, and waved for the waitress. He pointed at our glasses. “Two more, please and thanks.”
I laughed. “What wasthat?”
“What?”
“‘Please and thanks.’ What, you’re too lazy to thank her later? You’ve got to get it all out there, the whole thing up front?”
“Miss Manners, over here.” Eric shook his head. “No, I’ll thank her later. At least, that’s the plan. But say I get up to dance, or to talk to someone, and I come back and my drink’s on the table. Then I never said thank you, so who’s ungrateful now?”
I didn’t want to admit it, but he didn’tnothave a point. Our fresh drinks arrived, and Eric started on his. He did thank the waitress, with a smile that set her blushing.
“I wish she’d spilled my drink on me,” he said when she’d left. “You can tell a lot about someone by how they treat waitstaff, but you can tell a lot more by how they treatclumsywaitstaff. Or anyone, really, who’s messed up their night.”
“And you’d have been nice to her?”
“Sweeter than pie. You’d have seen I’m not Satan.”
I couldn’t resist. He’d left too good an opening. I snatched up his drink and dumped it on his arm. Eric shouted, jumped up, and shook out his sleeve. Fat drops of whisky spattered the floor. Eric’s dark eyes met mine, and I braced for his fury, but all I read on his face was wry amusement.
“Guess I asked for that, huh?”
I smirked. “Guess you did.”
“Oughta wring out that mess you made right in your lap.” He held his sleeve over me, but didn’t follow through on his threat. Instead, he sat down and signaled for more drinks. I sipped mine and felt good, and then I felt hazy, and was it just me, or was Eric kind of funny? Kind of cute, even, in a buttoned-down way? He had a nice laugh when he actually used it, deep, rich, and rumbling, with a rough whisky edge.
“Cheers,” he exclaimed, and held up his… fourth drink?
We clinked and I swayed, and hewaspretty hot. Arrogant-dick hot, but still, hot was hot.
If he wasn’t Eric Harper, he’d beallthe way tasty.
Maybe just for tonight, I could pretend he wasn’t?
CHAPTER 4
ERIC
