Page 32 of Crimson Desires

Tom/Tim looked between Aster and I. Aster gave him a slight nod.

“Yeah, sure. I’m going to get a drink. Let me know if you need anything, Aster.”

I narrowed my eyes, tracking Tom/Tim as he made his way to the bar. “He’s too old for you,” I said.

Aster snorted. “Maybe I like older guys,” she teased.

“You don’t like old guys. You like me.”

Aster tensed a little. I grimaced, forcing myself to think back in my hazy mind to what Kane had said earlier on the bus. Be empathetic.

“Aster, I’m sorry. I know I’m coming on strong. But it’s not because I think this is a joke or a game or whatever. It’s because I fucking like you. And I’ve never had feelings for anyone the way I do for you. And I have a feeling that you like me back.”

“You’re drunk,” Aster said.

“You’re not denying what I said.” I grinned.

“Fuck off.”

“You’re still not denying it.”

I wrapped my arm around her waist, thankful that Ava had decided to forgo the bar tonight. Aster stiffened beneath my touch, but she didn’t pull away. The touch wasn’t unwanted. She was just nervous.

I leaned down until my lips brushed up against the shell of her ear. “Loosen up, flower girl.”

Aster shivered. “Sorry. I’m not used to this.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re that innocent.”

She smacked me lightly. “I’m not innocent. I just... I don’t have that many friends my age other than my ex-coworkers. And I dropped out of college before I turned twenty-one, so I never got the chance to go clubbing.” Aster cringed. “Shit. Do people still say ‘clubbing?’ Or is that like a cringy 2010s Jersey Shore kind of word?”

I laughed. “People still say clubbing. Now, come on. You need a drink.”

“Or ten,” Aster said.

With my arm still around her, I coaxed her over to the bar.

“You think you can take ten drinks?” I asked. “We can go shot for shot if you’re up for it.”

Aster snorted. “You kidding? You’re already drunk. I’ll smoke you.”

“You forget that I’m a rock star.”

“And you forget that I’m a waitress.”

I grinned crookedly. “Okay. So, we’re doing this.”

At my request, the bartender poured us each five shots. I counted us down, and at ‘zero,’ Aster and I began to throw them back.

Honestly, I was impressed by Aster’s ability to drink. The alcohol didn’t seem to bother her at all, sliding down her throat without an ounce of resistance. After crushing all five shots (faster than me, mind you), Aster ordered a beer to nurse.

I nudged her with my shoulder. “Hey. So, that was like, really fucking hot.”

“I can already tell that those shots are going to hit me like a train later. But thank you,” Aster said, smiling proudly.

“You wanna dance?”

“I’m not good at dancing.”