She stared at me over her shoulder and said seriously, “I’m not in the habit of thanking people who do things to me against my will. So, if you don’t mind—”
She turned, ignoring me, and signaled for the bartender.
I hesitated. I could leave now and take my chances that she would only remember me in passing, not enough to severely hinder my job. She’d had enough to drink that that might be likely.
Or I could stay because . . . Well, I didn’t have shit on the because side of things. My feet were already moving forward, and I’d already pulled out a stool to take a seat beside her. Because I wanted to.
“Give her a water, too,” I said to the bartender.
She glared at me like I said, Give her the plague while you’re at it.
I was a masochist. Really. That was the only explanation. You’d think voluntarily going to war would have taught me that; but no, staring into her eyes was when it became truly evident.
“You’re awfully pushy, stranger.”
She bit her lip, and her eyes wandered down the muscles of my arms, and I was glad I was sitting down because my body liked that entirely too much. I directed my eyes to the worn wood of the bar that looked like it had been repurposed and put together from scraps.
“You’re awfully drunk, princess.”
I needed to keep reminding myself of that.
She laughed. “Honey, I’m barely getting started. When I start talking about how I can’t feel my cheeks and get a little touchy-feely, then you’ll know I’m awfully drunk.”
I’d seen her be touchy-feely, and then some. And the thought of being on the receiving end of that made the temperature seem to rise a few degrees.
The bartender returned with a shot of tequila, a slice of lemon laid across the top of the glass, and a cup of water.
Kelsey shot me a look of mock disdain and pushed the cup in my direction. I squeezed my hand around it as she took hold of her shot, offered me a sarcastic salute, and then tipped it back.
It was one thing to watch her drink every night from afar; it was harder to be there right beside her. She’d thrown back the tequila without even a wince. In fact, I think she smiled as she bit into the slice of lemon. I stared at the empty shot glass she placed on the table, just the barest trace of tequila settling back down to the bottom.
To distract myself, I said, “If you’re trying to drink away the memory of that kiss on the dance floor, I doubt it will work. That’s the kind of kiss that sticks with you.”
She made a face. The kind of face most people make after a shot of tequila. “You don’t have to tell me that.” She rubbed her knuckles across her cheek, no doubt remembering the path her friend had licked out on the dance floor.
I felt the need to laugh again, but stifled it. I didn’t know what it was about this girl that was so funny to me. Maybe it was just that I saw a previous version of me in her, and I was finally starting to get enough distance from that version that I could see the absurdity in it all.
Kelsey’s eyes locked on mine, and suddenly things seemed much less funny.
She said, “You know, you could always help me find another way to erase the memory of that bad kiss.”
I closed my eyes with one thought. Masochist.
I slid off my stool and turned around, leaning against the bar. This way I could talk to her, but stare out at the dance floor.
I said, “I could do that . . .” But then I was certainly, completely fucked and wouldn’t have a chance at following her without being recognized.
“But it’s so much more fun to keep picturing the look on your face as it was happening.”
She made an almost identical look of horror before settling into a pout, and this time I didn’t manage to stifle my laugh before it escaped.
She leaned into me, her chin tipped up toward me. Her warm arm brushed mine, and I thought, who was I kidding? I was already fucked. I might as well pack my bags now.
She said, “I can think of a few things that would be more fun.”
I looked over at her, even though I was supposed to be looking at the dance floor. I berated myself to look away even as my gaze trailed up her legs. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen her before, in much less clothing even. But something about the fact that she was right in front of me, within touching distance, and that she knew I was looking made it even harder to look away.
When I got to her chest, a vision of that emerald green bra from the botanical gardens in Kiev popped into my head. I yanked my gaze away, my thoughts squealing like a train dangerously close to derailing.
A thought was forming in the back of my mind. An incredibly dangerous thought.
What if I didn’t have to follow Kelsey?
What if I traveled with her?
I heard Kelsey huff beside me. “Well, this has been interesting. I better get back—”
No. She couldn’t leave.
“To the dementor out on the dance floor? Really?” I might have protested a bit too quickly there, and she must have known it.
She took a few steps, her hips swinging and smiled. “You got a better offer?”
Did I?
One part of me screamed, “Hell, yes,” while the other was busy urging me to pull away. I leaned toward her, but my fists stayed clenched on the bar top behind me, locking me in place.
Starting something with her would end badly no matter how I planned to proceed. I couldn’t follow her anymore for fear of being recognized. And I couldn’t travel with her because not a single guy she’d met so far had made it to day two with her.
So, no. I had nothing I could (or should) offer to her.
I slumped back against the bar, silent.
She followed my retreat, stepping up toward me and laying a hand on my chest. My muscles flexed involuntarily, and I had a very hard time remembering the argument I’d laid out only seconds ago in my head.
What if I could manage a second day with her? And a third? Maybe even more?
While I was struggling to maintain my control, she pulled the cup of water between us, wrapping her full lips around the straw. She took a long drink, and my blood migrated south.
I cleared my throat, not to say anything but because I needed something to do to keep from dragging her lips to mine.
She said, “Let me know if you change your mind.”
I was changing my mind every 2.3 seconds.
And while I struggled with my thoughts, she sashayed back to the dance floor, back to the Hungarian guys I could have stolen her away from.
9
I WATCHED KELSEY dance with another local guy from the group she’d come with, and she was a force to be reckoned with. I didn’t know how anybody said no to her. She closed her eyes as she danced, and she was magnetic as always—drawing more than just my stare.
I turned, tearing my eyes away, and realized where I’d been left. Alone. The bartender came up, mixing a drink, but looking at me in question.
I opened my mouth.
I thought about ordering a beer. Would a beer really be so harmless? As long as I stayed away from the strong stuff . . .
No.
Goddamn it. No.
I shook my head at the bartender. “I’m good. Thanks.”
And then I shot out of there, needing to put as much distance as possible between me and the bar.
I chose a spot in the first room, where I entered the building. It was a little more low key, and I figured I could just station myself there for the rest of the night. I was close to the exit if I needed some air, but it was also a prime spot to wait for Kelsey.