CHAPTER 5 Millie Monroe #2
He tips his glass to his lips, and my eyes are on his mouth as I do the same. What would it be like to kiss those lips? For those lips to drag down my neck, across my nipple, along my thigh?
My stomach clenches at the thought.
We’re both here solo. We’re both keeping the reason why to ourselves. Surely he’ll head back home in a few days. May as well take advantage of the time I have while I have it, right?
“Want to try mine?” I ask, and I push my glass toward him.
He tips it to his lips, takes in some of the liquid, and lets it sit on his tongue a few beats before he swallows. He pushes the glass back to mine, and oh my God, I’m sharing a drink with Archer Bradley. What are the freaking chances?
My content is going to positively blow up when I feature those fine-ass calves on Champagne Travel.
“Not bad,” he says.
Okay, Monroe. Time to figure out how to get into his bed. I’ve witnessed it plenty of times from the other side of the bar. I tip back half the drink in a long gulp as I try to come up with the courage to push the envelope.
“So you bartend?” he asks. When I nod, he asks, “Tell me some crazy bartending stories.”
“Oh, it’s just a bar and grill in this small suburb where I live.
A few weeks ago, I watched a wife ask her husband for a divorce.
Oh, one time there was an accident in the parking lot, and the guy who got hit came in the bar screaming at the guy who hit him.
Had to call the cops on that one.” I widen my eyes and twist my lips.
He chuckles.
“What about you? What do you do?” I ask, keeping up the ruse that I don’t know who he is.
He clears his throat. “I’m, uh…I work with an organization in Vegas. Lots of traveling involved.”
That’s one way to put it. I let him leave it vague. There’s some reason he’s being dodgy, and maybe I’ll never know what it is, but he deserves the right to privacy, I guess. Or the right to my honesty that I know who he is.
“Nice. That’s how you ended up here?” I ask.
“Something like that.”
I want to ask how long he’s here, but I’m not sure how to field that question when it comes in return, so I don’t ask. “Do you like to travel?”
He nods. “I do. You?”
I nod. “It’s my favorite thing in the world.
” I leave out the part about trying to turn a hobby into a business.
It’s a long story, and sometimes I sort of question whether it’s the actual right path for me.
But it’s all I’ve got. Either this or bartending, and while bartending is fun since I’m doing it with my friends, it’s not the type of career I dreamed about having.
I’m not exactly sure this is, either. Being told what to do on a trip is different than planning a trip for yourself.
Sometimes I miss the days of traveling for myself and making a quick blog post about where I went.
“Where’s your favorite place to travel?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.
I lift a shoulder as my eyes twinkle at him. “I don’t know, but I’m enjoying Paradise Island so far. You?”
“Same, but I haven’t seen much of it yet.”
I sip my drink nervously, the liquid courage not quite kicking in yet. “I haven’t, either, but I just got here about an hour ago.”
He leans in a little conspiratorially. “So did I.”
“Want to explore together after dinner?”
“I’d like that,” he says, and there’s just the slightest rasp to his tone that makes me think there’s a potential for more than just exploring the resort.
We order another round while we chat about the resort, mainly.
We talk about the things we want to see and do while we’re here.
It’s surface stuff, but it’s enough to keep the conversation flowing, and with no food in my stomach, I’m tipsy by the time my second drink is empty. And tipsy is my favorite territory.
“Have you ever had a vacation hookup?” I ask, shooting my shot.
He shakes his head.
I gasp, definitely surprised by that. Has this guy looked in a mirror? “You haven’t?”
“Nope,” he admits. “To be fair, I was in a relationship on and off for the better part of the last seven years.”
“And now?” I press.
“Single. In fact, the ex I was off and on with is married now.”
“Oh,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugs. “Don’t be. She ended up where she was supposed to, and time and whiskey have both helped.” He holds up his glass before tipping it to his lips again. “What about you? Single? Taken?”
“Single. So single, in fact, that my boss sent me with a vacation sex bucket list.” Oh my God. I can’t believe I just admitted that to Archer Bradley, whose eyebrows are quirking with interest in my sex list.
“I’m going to need to take a look at that. But first…your boss gave you that?”
I laugh. “When you work at a bar, these things happen, I guess. Technically his wife gave it to me.”
“So what’s on this list?” he asks, and he leans in as he patiently waits to listen carefully for every detail.
I clear my throat as my cheeks turn red. Again. They might be permanently red in front of this man. “Mostly sex in different places.”
“Such as…”
“You know. Shower, balcony, beach. That sort of thing. Skinny dipping. A one-night stand.”
His brow quirks at that last one. “You need some help with those?”
“It’s not my bucket list!” I protest just as our server comes by with our food order.
He leans over his plate toward me, his eyes twinkling. “Maybe it should be.”
I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from the invitation in his. “Yeah,” I say softly. “Maybe you’re right.”