Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 60497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
He strides around the bar, joining Mak on the other side.
“Okay, next up is the Sports Star Martini,” she says.
“Nice name,” Lucas says.
I nod in agreement.
Mak pours water from a tap and slides a glass to me. “Take a couple of sips to clear your palate.”
I do as instructed and wait eagerly for her next creation.
Again, she explains as she prepares the drink, the same way she did for The Touchdown, then slides what she calls a coupe glass toward me. “Give it a try.”
I lift it by the top, careful with the long stem. From the bright yellow color, I know there’s going to be a citrus flavor. Sure enough, I taste a tangy, juicy yet bubbly drink, picking up the hint of vanilla and ginger spice, which I know from her description.
“Yum. Our guests will have a difficult time choosing, that’s for sure.” I run my tongue over my top lip, enjoying the hint of orange, and I moan at the flavorful, zesty tang.
My gaze lands on Lucas, only to find his eyes dark and his stare locked on my mouth. Warmth rises to my cheeks at the heat in his gaze, and between my thighs, a tingle of arousal reminds me there’s nothing simple about being around him.
“Don’t forget there’s one more drink, with what I think is the best name. Thunder and Lightning.” She sweeps her arm with a flourish and I’m grateful for the interruption.
I clap, because her specialty drinks have exceeded any expectations I had or hoped for. With each thing I nail down, my optimism for the Thunder anniversary grows stronger.
Mak repeats her presentation as she mixes the last drink, a yellowish green margarita. I’m fascinated as she floats what she says is a layer of high proof alcohol on top, lights it with a long lighter, then quickly extinguishes the flame with a mug over the top. It’s a show stopper, for sure.
I take a sip and find it’s ultra spicy with a hint of decadent chocolate. In fact, it might be my favorite. I meet Mak’s gaze.
“Well?” she asks.
“Perfection. Honestly, I’m blown away.”
“You like all three? No changes?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Nope. Not that I’d know how or what to suggest if I did want something different. But I love them all. Thank you!”
She bows at my words. “Then my job here is done. I’ll leave you two to discuss and come back to clean up later. I need to do inventory in the storage room.”
“Thanks, Mak,” Lucas and I say at the same time.
She waves and heads toward the back of the club.
“Are you sure you’re happy? I wouldn’t want you to settle just to be nice,” Lucas says.
“The drinks are perfect. She’s perfect. You’re right. Midnight is lucky to have her.”
He returns to my side of the bar. “When we opened the bar, I went on a search for an ultra-talented bartender. She was between gigs and happy to move to Miami.”
“Well—” Before I can finish the sentence, Lucas’s cell phone rings. He looks down and furrows his brow. “Excuse me. I need to take this.”
He takes a few steps away, and I watch him as he talks on the phone. His shoulders straighten, his muscles stiffen, and he runs his hand through his hair in frustration. He seems to listen more than talk, then disconnects the call.
I quickly glance at my phone and open an app so I look like I’ve been busy and not staring or trying to eavesdrop.
“I’m back,” he says.
I place my phone on the bar and lift my head to meet his gaze. Instead of the easygoing guy discussing drinks, a moodiness seems to have settled around him. His eyes appear hooded, his aura much darker than when we’d been playfully discussing drinks.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He eases back onto the stool beside me and silence takes over. Instead of talking, I wait for him to decide if he wants to confide in me.
“Remember what we were talking about before?” He drums his fingers on the bar.
I tip my head to one side. “Can you be more specific?”
“About hanging out in large crowds not being a great thing?” He stands up and walks back around the bar until he’s behind it.
Grabbing a glass, he pours himself what looks like bourbon, then takes a large sip, and suddenly, I’m hit by the apparent gravity of whatever he’s about to tell me.
“I remember. What about it?” I ask, wanting to encourage him to open up.
He braces his hands on the counter in front of him. “When I was young and before the Carrases adopted me, my parents were useless. Mom was a drug addict and Dad an enabler. I was just an annoyance to them both. Always in the way. She needed whatever money Dad earned for her next fix and Dad was… mentally absent. The cabinets were often empty because she forgot to buy food and he spent his time down at the local bar.”