Page 17 of Ghostface Killer
“The winter ale and the Big Lebowski.”
“Huh?” I flip open the menu to see what exactly the Big Lebowski is. A grilled lamb burger smothered in Tzatziki sauce. “Mmm . . . I think I’ll go with a salad.”
“Suit yourself.” He takes a sip of his beer but doesn’t take his hypnotic eyes off me. I shouldn’t like the fact he’s looking at me like all men do. Wait, let me clarify, I shouldn’t like itas muchas I do.
The bartender finally gets a second to take my drink order. “A Jack and ginger, please. With a cherry.”
“With a cherry, huh?” He raises his eyebrows. It’s unconventional, but that’s how I like it. “Anything to eat?” He gets everything at once while he has the time. The place is pretty packed.
“The steak salad.”
“Coming up.” The middle-aged man with the perfectly groomed beard and bald head grins, tapping his pen on the bar top, ingesting me the same way Benjamin is. Ben takes notice, and I may be crazy, but I swear I see a flicker of jealousy in his deep-green eyes. I shouldn’t like that either, but I do.
After I order, several seconds of silence pass. I don’t want it to get awkward or lose momentum, so I plan a second wave of attack. But just before I can ask my next question, Benjamin beats me to it.
“So, you ask my opinion and then completely ignore my suggestions. I’m a little insulted.”
“Don’t be.” I press my lips together, trying not to smile. “I’m not a beer drinker, and I was looking for anything other than a patty between two buns.” The bartender drops my drink.
“That’s on the house, sweetie.”
“Why is that?” I question him out of sheer curiosity. I know why, but I’m interested to see how he sugarcoats wanting to get in my pants.
“No reason.” He smiles charismatically. “I don’t need to give out free drinks to get laid.” The bartender winks and takes the drink order of the person standing behind me. I’m left a little flabbergasted. I look over at Benjamin. “Was that some weird, reverse psychology come on?”
“Quite possibly.” He takes a sip of his beer. “Can we go back to talking about buns?”
“Is it a subject that interests you?” I can’t contain my amusement.
The devilish way his lips twist tells me buns is one of his favorite subjects.
“I’m Baz.” He puts his hand out, and I look at it oddly. “Are you unfamiliar with the American custom of shaking hands?”
“Oh, no, of course not.” I get with the program and place my hand in his. His skin is warm and smooth, and I feel the simple connection spread through my entire body like a hot shot of whiskey. How surreal.
“And you are . . . ?” he coaxes a response from me.
Don’t tell him your real name. Don’t tell him your real name.
“Stevie.”
“Stevie.” His tone communicates he approves. “That wasn’t so hard.”
He has no idea.
“So,Stevie. What brings you around here?”
“Do I scream tourist that loudly?” I scrunch my nose cutely, keeping up with the act.
“A little, yeah.”
Truth? I’m here to kill you.
“Hot springs,” I rush out.
“Ah, checking out Pagosa Springs?”
“No.” I suck on my straw seductively. “Too crowded. I read there are a couple of springs you can hike to in the area. I want to experience one in its natural form.”
