Chapter Three
Elizabeth
“I have to?” Marcella can be so annoying. “Says who?”
“Well, everyone! Everyone knows he’s the one for you, and—”
“Not everyone. And don’t make me spill my drink.” I transfer my martini to the other hand and start sipping it. “Nate can be your backup-backup plan.”
If only Nate knew what we’re saying about him. He’d clutch his chest, then collapse dramatically. And then he’d promptly tell Marcella to fuck off.
Marcella pouts.
“Better hurry. Justin might get tired of waiting,” I say.
“Fine.” Marcella spins around and leaves with Vanessa.
Finally. I smile inwardly. Now I can observe the bartender without having to split my attention. As much as I love my cousin and friend, I want to take the time to watch Mr. Absurd.
He moves with ease behind the counter, serving beers and making cocktails. I love competence in guys. It’s sexy. And in Mr. Absurd, it’s even more so.
Then there’s his voice. It isn’t even trying to be seductive—I know when a guy is trying. His voice doesn’t change from one moment to next, depending on who he’s talking to. It’s just naturally deep, resonant and calm.
And he gives the evil eye to some drunken guys heading my way, for which I’m grateful. Intoxicated male egos are the worst.
I ask for another martini.
“That all you’re drinking?” Mr. Absurd asks.
“It’s classic and doesn’t disappoint.” I cock my head. “Why? You have something better?”
“How about an apple mojito?”
“Apple?” I consider, a slight smile on my lips. I like the way he grins at me as he tosses out the suggestion. “Don’t think I’ve ever had one.”
“It’s not really a classic…but still good. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to pay.”
My smile widens. He knows how to seal a deal. “Okay.”
He makes the mojito and places it in front of me. I take a sip. It’s as great as the mojitos my cousin Mark made, but the crisp flavor of apple really enhances it. “It’s excellent.”
“Told ya.”
“Your own recipe?”
“Yeah. How did you know?”
“It’s not on the menu.” I quirk my eyebrow at the blackboard full of funky drink names in colorful chalks behind him. “Or the specials.”
A dimple appears on his right cheek. I have a weakness for dimples.
“How long have you been working here?”
“About seven months. Since I turned twenty-one.” He dries some wine glasses, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he runs the clean white rag over the crystal surfaces. “I haven’t seen you in here before,” he says, sounding a bit too casual.
What—and how much—should I say? Getting busted now would suck. My ID says I live in Orange County, but I doubt he noticed. Most bartenders only check the birthday. “I don’t live around here.”
“Not attending UCLA?”
I shake my head. “I was studying in…Europe.”
“Your friends, too?”
That makes me blink. “Oh. You mean…Vanessa and Marcella. No. They didn’t. We…”
He probably heard us speaking German, and thankfully didn’t understand it. Lots of people in SoCal speak at least some Spanish, but not German.
“We weren’t speaking in English because, you know”—I make a circle with my index finger—“secrets.”
“You aren’t a mafia princess or anything, are you?”
I snort, biting back a grin at the teasing smile he adds at the end. He’s probing, and I hate men who probe, but somehow with him it’s okay. As a matter of fact, I want him to get to know me—just me—and like what he discovers. “No. Definitely not. Besides, we were speaking German. Have you ever heard of a German mafia?”
“No. But that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”
I finish the mojito. “Well, lucky for you, I’m not a mafia princess with big, burly men ready to break your legs for talking to me.”
He laughs.
I tap the rim of my now empty glass. “Is this your favorite?”
“Nope. I prefer vodka.”
“Really?”
He shrugs. “Strong. Neat. No smell. What’s not to like?”
I’ve had a lot of liquor before, but never vodka. “Give me a shot.”
A small frown on his handsome face, he studies me. I feel his gaze like a caress, and I suck in a breath.
Get a grip. You’re leaving the States in less than forty-eight hours.
Still… A girl can have fun with a sexy stranger, right?
Resting my chin in my hand, I grin at him. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to pass out and make you carry me home. I have the infamous Pry—um, a prime metabolism.”
Mr. Absurd’s going to cut me off. I’ve had seven drinks. And he doesn’t know about the notorious Pryce metabolism, which allows the people in my family to drink alcohol almost like water.
The gracious thing for me to do would be to pay and get out before he has to make the decision. Because it’s obvious he wants to cut me off in a nice way, mistakenly believing it’s for my own good.
But if I leave…I may never see him again. I’m returning to Italy to study with Grandpa Thomas in two days.
The idea of never seeing Mr. Absurd again does funny things to my insides. I don’t recognize the feeling, and I don’t like it.
On the other hand, I should leave now before making a fool out of myself. Just look at him. He probably has a girlfriend. Or a harem of girlfriends.
I bite my lower lip, not liking that notion one bit. I’ve never fought over a man. There are plenty of pretty boys to go around, but somehow…this one is different.
Definitely time to get up and go. I must be more buzzed than expected if I’m getting jealous over a guy I just met.
Before I can get up, Mr. Absurd places a shot glass in front of me.
Wordlessly, I pick it up, wanting to know what he considers strong and neat, then knock it back. The liquid goes down silky smooth without any noticeable burn.
I give him a sweet smile to match the lovely aftertaste of the vodka lingering in my mouth. “Another one.”
This time, he doesn’t study me. He merely pours another shot.
I knock it back with my eyes on the bartender, forming a vague plan.
Stay until his shift ends.
Leave my Maserati in the parking lot.
Seduce him.
I’ve never seduced anybody, but how hard can it be? Even if things don’t go the way I want, there won’t be any “we might run into each other in an awkward way” consequences.
After all, I’m leaving in two days.