Page 6 of Good For Me

“That’s kinda what I was going for.”

“No!” he cries. “We’re not drowning your sorrows! We’re fuckingcelebrating.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “I realize you’ve been trying to get in my pants since you started here but celebrating my heartbreak seems a little cruel.”

He makes a scoffing noise. “We’re not celebrating your heartbreak, and this has nothing to do with me or your pants.” But his gaze falls down to my legs and he smirks a little. “Though you do look insanely hot in those pants.”

“Will you shut up and give my drinks back?”

He holds his tray out of reach but leans closer to me, and just like that I’m trapped in his ice-blue glaze. “Jas, listen to me. You absolutely should be celebrating right now. Do you know why?”

I just shake my head. There’s something about being this close to those eyes that makes it hard to form words.

River grins. “Because you’re free, girl. You just got rid of one hundred and sixty pounds of worthless loser in the blink of an eye. That guy was all wrong for you. Just think—you’ll never have to hear him drone on about spreadsheets or algorithms or whatever the fuck lame-ass dorks like to talk about.”

A snort escapes and I slap a hand over my mouth. River smiles knowingly. “He totally talked about spreadsheets, didn’t he?”

“He’s an accountant.”

River groans like I just told him my ex is a war criminal. “You dated anaccountant,Jasmine? Seriously? A cool girl like you?

“You know I’m currently getting my degree in business administration, right?”

“Sure,” he says easily. “But you can still work on cool things with a business major, right? You could open a kick ass whiskey distillery or a store that sells those badass chick boots you’re always wearing.”

I shake my head. “How did we go from talking about my cheating asshole ex to badass chick boots?”

He points at me. “You’re right. I’m supposed to be getting you a new drink. I got distracted by the epic lameness that isKurt.” His face wrinkles in disgust, like the name is physically painful for him to say. “Hang tight.”

“You don’t need to get me a new drink,” I call after him, but River is halfway to the bar. I shake my head as I pull out my laptop and open the pouch filled with my uncle’s bank deposit slips. I should probably just take this stuff upstairs to our apartment. I usually prefer to do my work down here—I’m one of those people who needs background noise to concentrate and the bustling bar fits the bill. Plus, beer. But tonight, I’m clearly not fit for company.

River appears a few minutes later and I do a double take at what’s in his hands. “What the hell is that?”

He smirks, setting the purple monstrosity down and then, to my surprise, takes the seat across from me. “This, lovely Jasmine, is a Drunken Unicorn.”

I suppose it’s an appropriate name for what he just brought me. Instead of a pint glass, River brought over what appears to be a literal punch bowl filled with deep purple liquid. It’s rimmed with bright pink sugar and the whole thing is topped off with a generous dollop of whipped cream covered in little candy pieces and sprinkles.

“I’m not drinking that,” I say immediately. I am strictly a beer and hard liquor kind of girl.

He grins and holds up two straws. “Did I mention there’s five different kinds of booze in this? It’s not only celebratory—this stuff will get you trashed.”

He looks so eager sitting there, his gorgeous-enough-to-model face suddenly boyish. It will feel cruel to send the drink back—like kicking a puppy. So instead I take the straw he offers and stick it into the purple liquid on my side of the bowl.

“Holy fuck,” I gasp after my first sip.

“Right?” River asks, wincing, pulling his mouth from his own straw. “I think I’m drunk already.”

I take another sip. The drink is disgusting—way too sweet and cloyingly fruity, in addition to being burn-your-hair off strong—but I have a feeling I’m going to drink my fair share anyhow. “I wasn’t actually planning on getting trashed tonight.” I point at the untouched work. “I have stuff to do.”

River waves me off, taking another mouth puckering sip. “You’re not working tonight. It’s a night of celebration.”

“I’m still not sure I’m with you on the whole celebration thing.”

He eyes me over the sea of purple. “Was he a good boyfriend?” He flashes a smirk. “You know, in spite of the accounting thing.”

“Of course.” A strange defensiveness rises in me. “I dated the guy for two years.”

He nods, slightly more subdued. “That’s a long time. Lot longer than any of my relationships.”