Page 32 of Vesper Martinis

“Try one.”

I keep eye contact with him as I put the whole thing into my mouth. I don’t bite immediately. I let it melt a bit as I use my tongue to play with it. Wesley shifts in his seat, and it’s satisfying to know I can get to him just as much as he can get to me.

This whole dinner is another thing that’s started to change how I think since Wesley kissed me in my office. I believe he’s opened me up without even knowing it. He’s made me consider trying something new. Brenda gave me a little shove, too, but that was only because of Wesley.

That thought makes me smile.

Chapter 12

Wesley

Monday afternoon, I come to work and set up the bar, cutting up the limes and basil, filling the ice, and doing all the other little things we need when the bar opens. Derek is next to me, wiping down the counters, occasionally looking at me.

I know he wants to ask about the other day when I came back down after being in Pierce’s office, all disheveled and acting weird. I couldn’t help it. I was freaking out about how I crossed a line with him, but what’s more, I was freaking out about how much I liked it. Which, of course, led to more of the same in my bedroom the day after.

Afterward, I didn’t tell Derek what had happened. I just told him everything was fine and not to worry about it. The rest of the night, I was going through the motions, careful not to lick my lips too often because I could still taste him on me. The memory of him in my mouth did some sinful things to my body that were not appropriate at the moment.

“Would you stop doing that?” I ask him when I catch him staring at me.

“Sorry, dude. Just making sure you’re okay. You’ve been all over the place recently.”

Yeah, I have. I’ve gone back and forth between being psyched at having something with Pierce and the reality that it’ll never happen.

“I’m fine. Just a bit off. I’m sure it’ll all settle down soon.”

I hope.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the unexpected dinner with Pierce and his mother since it happened. After dessert, Minnie and I went home, and I didn’t talk the entire time. Minnie went on and on about Margret’s tips for keeping plants alive and said she wanted to get some. I think I hummed something that gave her permission. I don’t remember.

I just couldn’t get over how nice it was. My interaction with Pierce up to that point was angry, horny, or emotional. Not… casual. It was like a Sunday dinner with family. We laughed and talked and ate. There was a bit of flirting, which can’t be helped. He just looked so good in his dark suit, glasses, and hair, not slicked back like usual but natural. Plus, he smelled good.

It made me think more about how it could be. Margaret mentioned that she comes up occasionally from Seattle to have dinner, and she even mentioned that the next time she comes up, she'd like to have dinner again with Minnie and me.

I noticed that Pierce didn’t disagree, making hope bloom a little in my stomach.

My spine shivers and I look up and see Pierce standing on the balcony, peering down at me, his eyes dark, his hair slicked back with one hand on the railing and the other in his pocket.

“Can I have a dirty martini with three olives, please?” I look at the new customer. A man in his mid-twenties, I’d say, with dark hair and dark eyes, leans against the counter, sporting a cocky grin.

“Sure thing,” I start making the drink, and the man keeps ogling at me. Looking me up and down in a way that I think he thinks is sexy, but is just a bit creepy.

After making the drink, I put down a napkin, place the glass on it, add three olives on a toothpick, and push it to him.

“There you go, sir.” He takes a sip and exhales so loud that I hear it through the pulsing music.

“Hmm, that’s quite dirty. You know how to mix your drinks, sir.”

“Thanks,” I say, trying to move on to another customer, but he keeps talking to me.

“Is this your only talent?” He winks, and I want to gag, but I don’t because we're supposed to be friendly to our customers.

“You can take your drink to one of the booths over there,” I point to the one farthest away from me.

“Aw, come on. I thought bartenders were supposed to talk to their customers. Get to know them.”

I don’t like where this is going, so I try to take another customer's order, but he gets in the way.

“Oh, come on. Don’t ignore me.”