Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“Oh, you beautiful, confusing man,” I whisper, as he looks up and spots me. He places his phone down, sitting back on the stool, arms crossing, studying me studying him. Doomed.
“Get your arse over here,” he says seriously, jerking his head in order. “Now.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Are you arguing with me?”
I chew my lip, uncharacteristically coquettish. “Maybe.”
Revealing a hint of a smirk, he leans forward and rests his forearms on the bar. “Then I look forward to punishing you later.”
“Can’t wait.”
A beautiful, wide smile breaks, and he sighs, holding his hand out. “Come to me, baby.”
Melting.
I walk to him and take his hand, letting him hold it as I slip onto the stool next to him. Clinton raises an interested brow as he heads our way. “Good to see you again,” he says, turning his interest onto Jude.
I just catch Jude’s tired look before he shuts the lid of his laptop and pulls a file closer, flipping it open. I wince at the sight of his scuffed knuckles. “Let’s do this,” he says.
I crane my neck to try and see what he’s looking at. “What are we doing?”
“Cocktail tasting.”
“You said I’m helping you with work.”
“You are.” He reaches for my lips and drags his thumb across the bottom one, watching me come over all hot and bothered. “Clinton’s been working on some new recipes for the cocktail menu, and we have to try them.”
“It’s ten a.m.”
Jude smiles mildly, and another whoosh of tingles bursts inside me. “We’re tasting, Amelia, not getting out-of-our-skull drunk.”
“First up is the Arlington,” Clinton says, drying his hands on a cloth before pinching the stem of a coupe glass and setting it in front of us.
Jude folds his arms and nods for me to go ahead, so I do, taking the glass as Clinton leans on the bar, studying me.
“Can I just check something?” I admire the huge decorative cube of ice that’s encasing a cherry. “There’s no nuts in any of these, is there?”
“No nuts.”
“Shit,” Jude breathes, his face falling. “I should’ve checked that.”
“I checked myself.”
“But I should have.”
I frown at the irritation growing before me. “It’s not your responsibility to investigate everything I put past my lips, Jude.”
The irritation seems to escalate before my eyes, and I lower the glass, stumped. Why is he getting so worked up over nothing?
“I should have checked,” he mutters, using the foot stand on his stool to push himself up and peek over the bar. “Those there,” he says, pointing to a few glass jars. “Do any contain nuts?”
Poor Clinton is as bemused as I am as he picks up a jar. “Almonds.”
“Why the hell do we have almonds?”
“To top the Celeste.”
“The sweet martini cocktail?”
“Yeah.”
Jude swings his gaze to me. “Never try that one.” Then he scans the bar as I watch, slightly concerned. “And those there, what are they?”
“Chili nuts,” Clinton replies. “And those are pistachios, and those are walnuts, and those are dry-roasted cashews.”
Jude looks like he’s about to have a hernia. “Why the fuck do we have so many nuts?”
“It’s a bar, Jude,” Clinton says. “People like a bowl of nuts with their drinks.”
“Okay, we need to get rid of them.”
“Jude,” I whisper, exasperated. “The nuts are fine where they are.”
“What happens if you eat nuts?”
“I don’t eat nuts,” I point out. “Because I’m allergic.”
“What if Clinton touched one and then handled the glass you’re drinking from?”
I drop my gaze to the glass. “Have you touched any nuts today, Clinton?”
“Only my own, but I washed my hands.”
I burst out laughing, placing the glass back down.
“This isn’t fucking funny,” Jude snaps.
“Will you chill out?” I chuckle, patting his knee. “I’ve survived thirty years managing my allergy. I’m still here.” What on earth has gotten into him? I pick up the glass and take a sip, widening my eyes over the rim, humming. “Oh, that’s good.”
Jude pouts. “I can’t believe how laid-back you are about it.”
“I can’t believe how uptight you are.” I hand the glass over. “Try it.”
He curls a lip playfully and accepts, nodding his approval. “Very good.”
“Like sweet and salty.”
“And no nuts,” Clinton adds, slamming the lid on his mixer and shaking it vigorously. “Is it a yes?”
“It’s a yes from me,” I chirp. “What’s next? I like this game.” But I will have to mind my pace or I’ll be pissed out of my mind before we make it to lunchtime and useless for our girls’ night out tonight.
I peek at Jude, feeling him looking at me. “What?”
“Nothing.” He reaches for my knee and squeezes over my trousers. “You dirty stop-out.” His eyes fall down my clothes from last night.
“I’m a dirty stop-out because you demanded I stay the night.”
“You’re staying tonight too.”
I shake my head. “I have plans with the girls.”
“Oh,” he grunts, disappointed, but his disappointment soon disappears when he glances past me, and of course, I look to see what’s caught his eye and distracted him from the fact I’m not staying tonight.