Chapter 2 #2
“I needed something strong. Something to let me forget for a while. According to the internet, whiskey’s a good choice.” Her voice is practically a whisper by the time she gets to the last words, and I’m not even sure she’s still talking to me.
Usually, at a moment like this, I would fumble through some awkward words and uncomfortably end the interaction. Tonight is not normal, though.
“Well, if it has to be whiskey, I can’t, in good conscience, let you drink that shit.”
Her head whips up, and she looks over at me. The crinkles around her eyes and her furrowed brow tell me she’s questioning what I mean.
Maybe she’s wondering if I’m hitting on her. I’m not. Not that I’m not attracted to her, but that’s not what she needs right now, and I’m not a dickhead. Well, most of the time I’m not.
I catch the bartender’s eye and wave him over.
“Do you have Macallan?”
The bartender’s eyes widen.
“Uh, yes, sir. But it’s forty doll—”
“Please bring us a bottle and two fresh glasses.” His jaw drops.
“Sir, are you sure?”
I guess I can appreciate that he’s asking. I’m on my fourth whiskey, and I’m sure he runs into people with buyer’s remorse when they sober up and realize they spent a few hundred dollars on a bottle of whiskey.
“Quite sure. You can run it through the card before you open it, if it makes you feel better.” He nods and walks away.
When he’s gone, I turn my focus to her. “I’m happy to join you if you’d like, but I’m also okay with you taking the bottle and drinking alone—as long as you’re not driving. You also have to promise me you won’t drink the whole thing in one sitting. You’re a newbie, after all.”
“Nope. Not driving. But I can’t let you buy me a bottle of whiskey just because I’m having the worst day of my life.”
That punches me right in the chest, and a lump forms in my throat. I take a moment to get past it.
“Well, coincidentally, today’s also…” I take a second, and I know by the way she’s gazing at me now that she senses something serious is coming.
“Today’s the anniversary of the worst day of my life.
Thirteen years. This one is my last drink down here,” I lift my nearly empty glass, “then I’m planning to continue in my suite.
A little more dignified, I think, seeing as I’ve been here a while. ”
I force a smile, but I know she’ll see through it because she’ll recognize it as the same thing she does.
She says nothing but stares at me for at least a solid thirty seconds, and I’m certain she thinks I’m a sleazebag. Then, she reaches into her purse, retrieves two twenty-dollar bills, and tosses them on the bar top. My cheeks heat because now I know my oversharing must weird her out.
She stands.
Fuck. I let my head drop in humiliation and focus on my hands. I hope that if I hold this pose long enough, she’ll be gone by the time I look up.
“Let’s go then.”
Well, that gets my attention, and I whip my head up to gawk at her like a fool.
“What?” Then it dawns on me. She’s a beautiful woman in a bar with a buzzed man telling her he’s going up to his suite. She must think I was about to invite her. “Shit, no, sorry. I wasn’t trying to have sex with you.”
Shut the fuck up.
Her face is relaxed, giving me no clue about what she’s thinking. She tilts her head.
“Well, you have to now. No takebacks.”
My eyes nearly pop out of my head.
“Excuse me? Could you repeat that?” I ask.
“You have to screw me senseless now. It’s how this works. You implied I should go with you to your suite for sex, and you can’t—”
“I never said that you should have sex with me. Or go to my suite.” I swear I’m actually sweating now.
She glares at me, but something about it doesn’t seem quite right, like it’s not mean enough. Then she laughs. A robust laugh. Hell, it’s practically a cackle.
After several long seconds of her relishing in her amusement, presumably at my distress, she moves to the stool nearest me and sits.
“You should have seen your face. I’m sorry. But heck, I needed that. You didn’t seem like you were trying to get lucky—no offense—but I had to test out my theory. I didn’t expect your reaction to be so funny. Thank you for that.”
I grunt at her. “Glad I could provide you with comic relief,” I say dryly. I take a sip of my drink.
Her smile falls away. “Shit, did I go too far? I’m sorry.
It’s just, do you have any idea how hard it is for a woman to go out and not get hit on?
I mean, Jesus, I’m in jeans and a summer blouse, and I’ve had three offers already tonight, including the bartender.
I definitely would not tease him about going back to his room. He’d—”
“What did he say to you?” I have to fight to control the timbre of my voice and keep the irritation out of it.
She rolls her eyes. “Nothing original… or effective. Oh, speak of the devil.”
I glance up, and the bartender is approaching with our bottle of Macallan for me to inspect before he opens it. I take it in my hand and smile, thinking of how much my dad loved a glass of Macallan. Once a year, he allowed himself to splurge and buy a bottle.
“Would you be able to have this sent up to his room, along with two fresh glasses and a bucket of ice? We’d like to share it there.” I nearly fall out of my seat at her words, but the stunned expression on the bartender’s face is priceless.
He looks at me, then back at her, before returning his confused gaze to me.
“Sir?”
“You heard the lady. Close out both tabs on my card and send the bottle up to my suite.”
“Yes, sir.” He takes the bottle from me and walks away.
“Oh, no. I don’t need you to pay for mine.” Her protest is sincere. She grabs the cash she left on the bar top and slides it over to me. “Here.”
I stand and wave off the money. Her cheeks turn red.
“Tonight’s my treat,” I say.
She holds my gaze for a few seconds, then looks at the forty dollars.
When she tugs the corner of her lower lip between her teeth and looks between the bills and me one more time, her hesitation is palpable.
When relief washes over her features, I know she’ll keep the money.
It’s been a long time since that amount of cash made a difference in my life, and I hate that it clearly does for her.
“Thanks,” she says in a hushed voice. “That’s very kind of you.”
“My pleasure. Shall we?” I gesture to the bar entrance and follow her when she walks to and then through it, her steps sure.
Once outside of the bar area and heading toward the elevators, it strikes me that I have no idea what to call her.
“I’m sorry, but I just realized I don’t know your name.”
She stills for a moment, and her face betrays a nervousness in her I haven’t seen yet. She grasps a piece of her hair and twirls it with her fingers.
“Uh, I’m not sure we should give real names, right? Like, in case one of us is a creep.”
She’s probably correct.
“Okay. Yeah, that makes sense.” I think for a few seconds, and before I come up with something, we pass a bellhop with a name tag that reads “Alan.” That might work.
“You can call me Al.”
She smirks and, without missing a beat, says, “You can call me Betty.” The sparkle in her eyes, the first I’ve seen, tells me the name isn’t random.
I smile at her, and it occurs to me I’ve probably smiled more in the short time I’ve known her than I usually do in a month. Normally, only my mom and my niece, Layla, can regularly get the corners of my mouth to turn up.
“Betty, did we just pick our aliases based on a Paul Simon song that’s probably older than us?” I grin at her.
Her ensuing giggle is adorable.
“Yep, sure did. My mom—” her excited expression disappears, and she blinks her eyes a few times “—My mom loves Paul Simon, so I’ve heard the song a million times.”
There’s no question that it makes her sad. Her body language, tone of voice, and frown give her away. I want her to be happy again. She’s beautiful no matter what expression she’s wearing, but she’s radiant when she smiles.
When we arrive at my suite, I slide the keycard halfway into the slot, then stop.
“This is it. Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I’m not expecting anything to happen, but I still want her to be comfortable as we hang out.
She looks at me with those huge green eyes, puts her hand on mine, and pushes the keycard the rest of the way in. She’s still looking at me when the door lock beeps and I turn the handle. It’s only after I open the door and gesture for her to walk in that she tears her gaze from mine.