8. Corey
8
COREY
T he Bloody Mary tastes like watered-down ketchup mixed with cheap vodka. I take another sip, keeping my face neutral as the bartender - Abbie, according to her name tag - watches me with those striking hazel eyes.
"How is it?" Her fingers twist a bar towel nervously.
"Perfect." The lie slides too easily off my tongue.
“Good.” I see her breathe a sigh of relief. “Lacey usually has to help me with the complicated drinks.”
"Nothing complicated about keeping me company." I rest my elbows on the polished wood. "Unless you're too busy?"
She glances around the near-empty bar. "Not at the moment. Though I should warn you, I'm not great at small talk."
"Good thing I prefer honest conversation. So how'd you end up here?"
"Night school, needed flexible hours." She starts polishing already-clean glasses. "Psychology major."
"Analyzing the clientele already?"
"Maybe." Her smile reaches her eyes this time. "Awfully young for a psychologist.”
"Twenty-four?"
"What about you? Lemme guess. Early 40s?"
"Now who's the analyst?" I take another forced sip of the drink. "Way too accurate, in my opinion—ouch. What gave it away?"
"The watch. Vintage Rolex. My- someone I knew had one similar."
The way she catches herself, the slight shadow crossing her face - there's a story there. But her shoulders are already tensing, so I shift topics.
"Smart and observant. Dangerous combination."
"Only to some." She shifts slightly, and the scent of sweet cherry reaches me. "Should you be worried?"
"Depends what you're looking for in my psyche." I tap the rim of my glass. "Though I'd rather hear your professional opinion on why anyone orders a Bloody Mary after sunset."
"Bold of you to assume there's logic involved." She turns to serve another patron, her curls bouncing as she moves. "Beer?"
"Make it two." The man points to his friend.
Her hands shake less now as she pulls the taps. The confidence suits her - brings out a spark in those hazel eyes. She slides the beers over, collects payment, then drifts back my way.
"So what brings a man in a three-piece suit to a speakeasy on a Tuesday?"
"Would you believe me if I said the ambiance?"
"Not with that drink in front of you."
"Caught me there." I push the glass aside. "Bourbon, neat. Let's see what you can do with the simple stuff."
She smiles as she pours with more assurance this time, her movements fluid. The glass slides across the polished wood with practiced precision.
"Better?" Those full lips curve into a sexy grin, and I'm surprised at how my body responds.
"Much." The bourbon burns sweet and smooth. "Though I suspect you already knew that."
A couple waves from the other end. She excuses herself, and I find my eyes following the sway of her hips as she walks away. The attraction hits unexpected and hard - something about her combination of nervousness and wit draws me in.
When she returns, there's a new bounce in her step. "Still analyzing me?"
"Just appreciating the view."
Pink tinges her cheeks but she holds my gaze. "Careful. A girl might get some ideas."
"Maybe that's the point." I lean forward, lowering my voice. "Though I should warn you - I'm terrible at subtle hints."
Her laugh, rich and genuine, sends warmth through my chest that has nothing to do with the bourbon.
Her presence pulls at something deep inside me, a feeling I'd forgotten existed. That sexy smile, that laugh, sparks a warmth I haven't felt since... hell, I can't remember when.
The bourbon glass empties too quickly. Other patrons filter out as closing time approaches, but I linger, savoring each moment of our easy banter.
"Last call." She starts wiping down the bar, but her eyes keep finding mine.
"Shame." I check my watch - one. Bar closes at 2. "Time flies."
"That's what they say." Her fingers drum against the wood. "Though usually not on Tuesdays."
"Must be the company."
A strand of her curly hair falls loose. She tucks it behind her ear, that blush returning to her cheeks. The gesture's so natural, so unguarded - nothing like the calculated moves I'm used to from women who know my net worth.
"Speaking of company..." I open my phone, my heart racing like I'm twenty years younger. "I'd love to continue this conversation sometime. Maybe over a properly made Bloody Mary?"
Her eyes widen slightly, those full lips parting in surprise.
"Wait - you said it was perfect!" Her mouth drops open, those eyes widening in mock outrage.
"Call it professional courtesy." My laugh comes easy, natural. "Though I'd love to show you how to make a proper one sometime. When you're not working, of course."
The blush deepens across her cheeks as she fidgets with her phone. "I can't believe I messed up."
"Trust me, I've had worse. Much worse." I slide my phone toward his hand. "Maybe we can start with the basics and work our way up?"
Her fingers brush mine as she takes the phone, sending an electric current through my skin. She types her number with careful precision, those curls falling forward to frame her face.
"Abbie with an -ie." She hands it back, our fingers touching again. "Just in case you meet any other terrible bartenders."
"Only interested in one." Her answering smile makes my heart skip.
The way she looks at me - no agenda, no calculation - stirs something I thought long buried. Just pure, genuine interest sparkling in those eyes.
"Thanks for being patient with my bartending skills." Her fingers twist that bar towel again, the shy gesture making me sweat in my suit.
"Trust me, the pleasure was all mine." I stand, straightening my jacket. "Though next time, maybe skip the Bloody Mary."
"Next time?" Those piercing eyes light up, a mix of hope and uncertainty that's absolutely adorable.
"I did get your number." I pat my phone pocket. "Name’s Corey, by the way."
She ducks her head, those wild curls falling forward. "Good to know.” She smiles, and it’s dazzling. I leave a generous tip on the bar. "Thanks for elevating my evening."
Her laugh follows me to the door, light and musical. The night air is cool on my face, but can't cool the warmth spreading through my chest. I don’t remember the last time a woman made me feel this... young. This alive. I shoot a glance back, delighted to see that she’s watching me with a small smile on her lips.
I slide behind the wheel, her number burning a hole in my pocket. The scent of her perfume lingers on my jacket - sweet cherry and something uniquely her.
Christ, I'm grinning like a teenager after his first date. But something about her... that combination of wit and innocence, the way she blushes when our eyes meet. No calculated moves, no practiced lines. Just genuine connection.
Maybe I've still got it after all.