CHAPTER ELEVEN
Raven
“I’m telling you,” Camille said, perching on the edge of the pool table to take her shot. “The guy wants to fuck you.”
I put my hand on my hip and rolled my eyes. “He’s a guy and I happen to be wearing a tight skirt. It’s just a...thing. We spent half the afternoon fighting.”
“Sounds like he spent half the afternoon fighting with whether or not he should do the dirty with you,” Lani put in, typing on her laptop. She didn’t even look up from the screen. “And it sounds like you spent the other half perving on his cock.”
“I couldn’t not!” I covered my hand with my mouth at the admission. Damn it. I wasn’t going to say that out loud.
Why did it have to be quiet? And why did I call them to come hang out because Sienna had the bar covered?
Camille grinned. “Spill it.”
I pursed my lips as I took my shot. My ball bounced off the corner into the pocket. “Why do you care about it?”
“Because if you still don’t want him, I’m still up for taking him off your hands.”
“Xavier,” Lani reminded her. “Xavier.”
She waved her hand in response. “He sleeps with other people, so can I.”
“You’re not going to take him off my hands,” I said, hitting my ball. “He’s not on my hands in the first place.”
“Doesn’t sound as though he’d complain too much about being in your hands.” Lani smirked, still not looking up from her screen.
“Lani Montana, I will beat you unconscious with this pool cue if you don’t stop that.”
“No, you won’t. Then you won’t get to read what I’m writing about your bar.”
“You’re not supposed to be working!” Camille tapped the side of Lani’s leg with the edge of her pool cue. “Raven’s in a crisis!”
Shit me, she was a walking soap opera. “I’m not in a crisis!”
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”
“Methinks the lady wants to be beaten to her death.”
“Methinks the lady loves the other lady too much to do such a thing.”
If only she were wrong.
“Do you think he’s your person?” Lani finally peered up at me.
“The person to put me in a jail cell for murder? Probably.” I picked up my drink. “I’ve come close a few times in the last week. Tomorrow he might push me over the edge.”
The edge of what, I wasn’t sure. Anger? Annoyance? Sexual frustration? Temptation? It was all relative at this point. Either one of them could be the first to go if he pushed the right button...Or the wrong one.
I wanted to punch him as much as I wanted to kiss him. I just didn’t know which one would be more satisfying.
“You need to be pushed over the edge,” Lani said, her attention back on the laptop screen.
“Of an orgasm.” Camille snorted and filled up our glasses from the jug on the side. “What you need, my friend, is a break.”
I wished. “Where do you expect I get myself one of those? The closest thing I’ve had to a break in three months is a Kit-Kat.”
“Have one right now.” Lani closed the computer and set it down next to her. “Why not? It’s quiet and Sienna can handle it. Why don’t we get Parker to make us some food to go and we go eat down at the beach?”
That did sound good. And they were right—I did need a break. The last week had been crazy on top of crazy, and I really needed to get out of the bar for a while. Not to mention a breather before Yia-Yia showed up tomorrow to finalize her menu for this goddamn reunion...
“Fine. He has to-go boxes. I’m gonna go make us all a Dirty Screw each, so tell him I want a gyros with extra gyros meat and tzatziki sauce.” I put all the balls back into the pockets and grabbed the cue from Camille.
“Thank god,” she muttered. “I’m shit at that.”
No kidding. She hadn’t potted a thing except the white. She was very good at potting the white.
I headed out to the bar while they got their things together and poked their heads in the kitchen. There was barely anyone in the bar, which wasn’t a surprise for a Sunday, even in the summer. Mostly everyone was recovering from the night before and doing family stuff. I told Sienna where I was going and reminded her to call if it got busier. By the time I was done mixing our drinks, the girls emerged from the kitchen with some take-out boxes, so I put our drinks into some tumblers with the bar’s logo with “This is definitely vodka” written on them.
That drew some chuckles. There was definitely vodka inside those tumblers. That was why I liked them.
I waved goodbye to Sienna and we made our way down to the beach.
***
The soft sand shifted as I sunk my toes into it. It was mostly golden, but tiny flecks of both darker and lighter grains reflected through it, stealing my attention as they all flowed together, moving to make way for my feet.
Our finished take-out containers were dumped in a pile to our side, and Lani had been keeping an eye on a seagull that ventured too close, clapping her hands and screeching at it every now and then.
This was a ‘now.’
“You know that egg in Harry Potter? The one with the clue?” I said, staring at her. “You sound like that when it’s opened outside of water.”
She turned her head around and met my eyes. “It’s keeping the seagull away.”
“Or you could get the boxes and put them in the trash,” Camille drawled.
She was right. We were only feet away from the sidewalk, which meant in less than two minutes, we’d be able to get rid of the trash and sit back down.
“Give them here.” I stood and held out my hands.
Lani passed them up to me, and I tucked them against my body with a careful glance in the direction of the seagull. I wasn’t interested in losing my hand to a seagull just because it decided it was hungry.
Thankfully, I managed to get rid of the boxes without any harm coming to me from the seagull, although he did turn his attention to the trashcan as I joined the girls again.
“So,” Lani started. “Parker.”
I blinked and looked out at the Dalmatian playing in the water.
“Yes. Parker,” Camille continued.
The Dalmatian jumped to avoid some light spray from a wave.
“Oh, good, she’s ignoring us.”
The echoes of a few barks traveled up the sea breeze to where we were sitting.
“You’d think she’d know better by now,” Lani mused.
“We’re like dogs with a bone,” Camille agreed.
“What are you doing?” Brett’s—strangely welcome—voice carried over their going on. “Who’s ignoring who?”
“Raven’s ignoring us because we want to know about Parker,” Lani explained.
He snorted. “Smart chick.”
I smirked as I glanced his way.
“Watch it,” Lani warned him.
“But of course she should listen to you, kitten,” he said, surprisingly without an inch of sarcasm. He sat next to her and draped his arm over her shoulder. “You speak total sense all the time.”
Lani cleared her throat. She wasn’t buying it.
I leaned forward with a grimace. “You almost had it believable. You should have stopped before you sat down.”
“Damn it. Overcompensation,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Do I get points for trying?”
I nodded while Lani and Camille shook their heads.
Outnumbered. He was always outnumbered with these two.
“Really,” he drawled. “This from the two bugging her about something she clearly doesn’t want to talk about?”
“Suck up,” Camille said under her breath.
He flipped his twin sister the bird.
“It’s been ever since they got here,” I told him. “Yet if I bring up Xavier or you and they don’t want to talk about it, crickets would probably lay eggs in my pillowcase and chirp all damn night.”
“That’s because he and I are assholes,” Brett answered.
“You assume Parker isn’t.”
“Assume Parker isn’t what?”
I turned and looked back as the voice of the subject of far too many of my thoughts and conversations traveled through the air. He’d changed out of what he’d been wearing all day into some brown chino shorts and a white polo shirt that fit his muscular upper body a little too comfortably. Forcing myself to look away from his arms and up to his face, I wrinkled my nose and said, “An asshole. Brett’s assuming you’re not an asshole. Incorrectly, I might add.”
“Dunno,” Lani said. “Brett is the authority on assholes.”
“On being an asshole,” he quickly corrected her. “Not assholes in general.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to stop a giggle escaping. Of course, he’d notice her wording on that.
Parker held up his hands which did absolutely nothing to distract me from the vein that curved down the inside of his left bicep, disappearing briefly before snaking down his inner forearm. “I’m only an asshole to people who make a point of being an asshole to me.” His dark gaze landed on me as a flash of amusement crossed his expression.
“Yeah, right, I started it,” I snapped back at it. “Who pulled the head off my favorite Barbie and flushed it when I was three?”
“You’re the one who kicked a ball into my guinea pig.”
“Accidentally. I was aiming for your fat head.”
“You had a shit aim.”
“Yeah, well, your ego was a lot smaller than it is now.”
“You’re right.” He grinned. “Now, it’d probably bounce right off it without touching me. You’d need someone to hit you in the ass for you not to feel anything.”
“I wish someone would hit you in the ass. With a bullet.” I turned around, sticking my middle finger up over my shoulder.
Annoyance tickled down my spine. I didn’t give a shit that he’d basically called my ass fat—he’d been saying that since I hit puberty. I was annoyed because once again, I’d fully risen to the bait and given him the satisfaction of knowing he’d pushed my buttons.
“See?” Lani whispered not-so-quietly to Brett. “Real hatred or sexual tension hatred? We can’t decide.”
“The most sexual thing about our relationship is the pleasure I’ll get when someone finally rams their fist in his face,” I ground out. Then, to the tune of Brett’s attempt to cough over his laughter, I spun back to look at Parker. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”
He shrugged. “Technically, but since nobody has ordered food in over an hour, I closed the kitchen.”
“And you didn’t think to ask me if you could do that?”
“Contract says I can do that since I run it. Would you prefer I asked you for permission?”
“I’d prefer to be informed,” I said sharply.
“All right.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Raven, it’s been over an hour since anyone ordered food and it doesn’t look like it’s getting busier, so I closed the kitchen.”
“It’s a miracle you’ve made it this long without someone breaking your nose.”
“It’s a miracle nobody has suffocated you with a sock to shut you up.”
“No wonder my brother is still single. His taste in the people he surrounds himself with is shit.”
“At least his taste is the problem. Your personality is yours.”
“Definitely sexual,” Camille butted in. “No doubt about it. I’m starting to get jealous.”
A breathy ‘ugh’ sound escaped me as I once again righted myself to look out to the water. “Give me a break.”
“We tried,” Lani reasoned quietly. “Then the testosterone arrived.”
“I don’t do well with walking cocks,” I said, grabbing my tumbler and putting my straw in my mouth. I knew there was a reason I’d been drinking this slowly.
All right, so part of it was because I’d have to go back to the bar to get another drink, but whatever.
“I have a question,” Brett said after a moment of mutual silence from us all. “He’s your brother’s best friend, right?” He looked at me. “How have you not killed each other?”
“We’re generally kept apart, so this new arrangement is very...testing,” I answered. “The hatred is almost biological.”
“It’s the Karras blood,” Parker added. “It’s more prevalent in the women than it is in Ryan.”
“So help me, Parker Hamilton, or I will unleash the full extent of that blood on you,” I warned him.
Brett glanced at me. “You’re Greek?”
“No, I’m from Russia.”
“That explains the temper.” He slowly nodded.
I wasn’t going to dignify that with a response. It was quite simple. If you pissed me off, you saw my temper. The solution was to not piss me off. So, really, the fact that the I was sometimes...hot-headed...had nothing to do with it. Other people being idiots had everything to do with the fact I had a bit of a hot temper.
“I feel like so much of the past two years make sense now,” Brett continued.
I pinned him with a hard stare.
“I’m gonna take him home before he keeps talking himself into his hole.” Lani jumped up and brushed sand off her butt. “Will Sienna give me the key to grab my laptop?”
I nodded as Camille and Brett both stood. “Keep the tumblers. I have tons.”
I wasn’t going to attempt to move. Parker had come out here for more than just to tell me that he’d closed the kitchen. If that was it, he would have had Sienna call me or he’d have left by now.
I waved goodbye to my friends and stretched my legs out right in front of me. I’d changed again before calling the girls, so I brushed some sand off the frayed edges of my denim shorts before leaning back onto my hands.
Parker sat down next to me and set his shoes on the sand next to him. “Do you ever think we should stop this childish fighting and be nice to each other?”
“All the time,” I answered honestly. “Then you open your mouth and I forget why.”
He peered sideways at me, a lopsided grin on his face. “Now it makes sense. The same thing happens when you talk.”
I couldn’t help but meet his slim gaze and smile back. I even laughed a little. It was the truth. I’d told myself so many times that we needed to be civil to each other since we worked together, at least while we were in work, but it was impossible.
It was a reflex. The childish banter and quick witted bullshit was nothing more than a reflex. It had been our relationship for so long, that despite the fact we hadn’t seen each other for three years, it was all too easy to slip back into the status quo we’d maintained prior to him leaving.
It was just...easy. And, if I was honest, I didn’t even know if I did hate him anymore. I didn’t like him, but I respected him. Nobody would ever believe me, but I did. He was a phenomenal chef, and I respected his ability to master his craft. I respected his dedication and his passion, and despite the fact he pissed me off daily, I also respected the fact that, deep down, he was a good man.
No matter what I thought normally, it was the truth. Parker Hamilton was a good man who said slightly inappropriate, libido-licking things every now and then.
A gasp escaped my lips, and my entire body froze.
“What?” he looked at me. “Did a crab finally flick your clit or something?”
I spun and grabbed his arm. My fingers dug right into the solid muscle, and my heart jumped when I met his eyes. “New cocktail. I have to go back.”
I let go of him as quickly as I’d grabbed him and scrambled up. The loose sand had me slipping once, but Parker somehow managed to catch my elbow and keep me on my feet. I had no idea how he’d gotten up so quick, but I wasn’t going to question it. I don’t even think I said thanks as I grabbed my cup and ballerina flats and ran to the edge of the beach.
We made it back to the bar in record time, only stopping to put on our shoes. The cocktail was screaming at me inside my head, and the only thing that silenced the sudden creative hit was the fact the bar was empty.
Sienna looked up as we walked in. “Boat show in Key West. Apparently that’s where everyone is.”
I glanced around. “Oh. Do you wanna go home? If there’s nobody here, I’ll close early and take the rest of the night off.”
It was a rare occurrence, and one I wanted to take advantage of with this recipe in my head.
“Um, sure. Do you want me to finish cleaning up?”
“Hmm?” I paused before stepping behind the bar. “Oh no, no, you’re good.” I barely finished speaking before I turned back to the bar and perused the bottles.
Fruity.
It would be fruity.
Tropical. Fresh. The kind of one you could drink four of and it not be too sweet.
Coconut rum.
I grabbed the bottle and put it on the bar behind me. There was an exchange of voices somewhere nearby, but it was a blur.
Banana liqueur.
The bright yellow bottle clinked against the coconut rum one as I set it down.
Pineapple juice.
It was so simple.
“No tequila?” Parker asked with a smirk.
I paused. Tequila was always worth it. Reaching for a shot measurer with one hand, I grabbed a mixer with the other. Parker removed the top of the mixer when I held it out to him and shook it. Measuring it out was the hardest part, so I shushed him when he started to say something.
Slowly, I went through the motions. Pour, taste, change. Pour, taste, change. I did it over and over until the balance felt almost right, and then I added a splash of orange juice.
One more sip, and it was perfect.
I pulled two highball glasses from the shelf and set them on the bar. Parker’s gaze followed my every movement as I poured the cocktail into them both and slid one across the bar to him. “Try that.”
He peered at me for a moment before picking up the glass. “What is it?”
“Just try it.”
He did. Surprise raised his eyebrows as he looked from the glass to me. “That’s really good.”
I clapped my hands together once and actually bounced.
“Did you just pull that out of nowhere?”
“Kind of,” I answered, picking up my glass. “It happens sometimes.”
“What are you calling it?”
I grinned. “The Libido Licker.”
“Is that a promise?”
“Drink enough and it should be.”
He laughed. The sound was low and throaty, and it rumbled across my skin. An unwelcome shiver went rocketing through my body, and I focused on drinking so he wouldn’t notice the fact my entire body just reacted to a goddamn laugh.
“I have an idea.” He tapped two fingers against the bar and shoved his glass at me. “Hold on.”
I blinked as he disappeared through the doors to the kitchen before I could say a word. The creative high had disappeared the moment I’d gotten the recipe right, so I slumped against the bar and stuck a straw in my drink.
By the time Parker re-emerged from the kitchen with a tray in his hand, I was on my second glass.
This Libido Licker was dangerous. It went down too easily. It would be so simple to get drunk and do stupid stuff.
Parker set the tray on the bar. Hummus and snacks covered it, and I frowned as I took it in.
“I just ate. Why did you bring food?”
“The hummus platter,” he said, glancing at my glass. “Did you already finish one?”
“Maybe.” I walked around the bar, keeping the glass firmly in my hand, and grabbed a strip of pita bread. “Why did you bring food?”
“Because I have a feeling this could go really well with the drink.”
Frowning again, I dipped the pita into the regular hummus and took a bite. I followed it up with a sip of the cocktail—and he was right.
“Oh my god,” I muttered, dipping the bread again. “This is so good. It’s like a wine pairing but not.”
“That’s because it’s not wine.” Amusement threaded through his tone. “It’s a cocktail pairing. Put it on the specials board or something.”
“Do you think you could pair more cocktails with food?” I asked, wiping the corner of my mouth with a paper napkin.
He shrugged a shoulder. “We’d probably have to do it together, but it wouldn’t be too difficult to get the drinks that compliment the food.”
“I never thought I’d say this, but you’re a bit of a freaking genius.”
His eyes met mine right as his lips tugged to one side.
Maybe it was the dark glint in his gaze.
Maybe it was the smooth curve of his lower lip as it spread into that half-smile, half-smirk.
Maybe it was the moment we found a middle ground, something we could agree on.
Maybe it was the—strong—alcohol.
Or maybe it was just insanity, because I placed my hand on his arm and pressed my lips to his. Soft, smooth, warm. It was the lightest of touches, and he didn’t even move.
The ramifications of such a gentle touch were evident the moment I pulled away. With my eyes widening, I clamped my hand over my mouth and stepped back. My heart was thumping, and a horrified shiver tickled across my arms, making my hairs stand on end.
“Well,” Parker said simply, “I guess we know the drink lives up to its name.”