Page 17 of The One Timer
Tony returns with our pizza then, and I’m partly disappointed—my lady parts mostly—and partly relieved because a girl’s nerves can stay on edge only so long without twitching. Then I might do something rash.
We talk about the game and his teammates, and I easily keep the conversation about him, and he’s anything but boring.
“There’s no dessert here,” he says, “so how about a liqueur instead of cake?”
“A liqueur? Like what?”
“Whatever you want.”
“Okay, I confess—I’ve never had a liqueur.” I feel the warmth of my blush, but there’s no sense pretending.
His expression clears, and he reaches out and caresses my face. “Then this’ll be your first. I’ll choose for you.” He must sense my reluctance because he adds, “I’ll order one I’ve never had so we can both try something new.”
I nod. “Sorry, I’m such a baby about trying different foods or drinks. I don’t know what it is that makes me so squeamish.”
“No need to apologize. We’ll confront your dangerous venture into the world of strange liqueurs together.”
I swat him and laugh. “You’re a merciless tease, aren’t you?” But he puts me at ease all the same.
When Tony returns to clear our plates—paper ones—Chase orders two. After the server places the two small glasses in front of us, Chase picks one up, and I’m watching him, expecting him to take a sip and anticipating the look of satisfaction on his face. But instead, he changes direction, bringing the glass of yellow-gold liquid toward my mouth.
“Are you kidding? You go first.”
“How about if we try it together? We can watch out for each other. And if you need emergency care after your sip—”
I interrupt his teasing with a swat and pick up my glass. “Okay, okay, you’ve made your point.”
“On three,” he says.
I laugh again, nearly spilling my drink.
“One, two…three.”
My tummy tumbles around like a Maytag on jet fuel. It’s the way he says the words, the tone of his voice all sexy, gravelly, quiet, and serious, that disturbs me in the most delicious way as I watch him raise his glass. When it reaches his lips, he stops.
He raises his brows, and I realize I forgot about my drink, so I lift it to my mouth and knock it back like it’s a Jello shot.
He’s drinking his as he watches me and almost spits it out. “Are you fucking with me? Did you just drain that in one gulp?”
“So what if I did?” my voice croaks, and my eyes water, but I’m intact. The aftertaste in my mouth as I lick my lips isn’t half bad. “Mmm. Tasty.”
He shakes his head. “How would you know? You just knocked it back like it was a shot of whiskey.”
“It’s the new way to drink liqueur. Besides, some people sip their whiskey, you know.”
He raises a brow in question.
“Not me. I’ve seen it on TV.”
“Right.” He takes a sip of his. “Mmm. You’re right. It is tasty. How about if I order you another one—”
I sweep my arm back and forth in a gesture that says no way. “I’m done. I need to keep my wits about me tonight for…” Shit. I was going to say for later. Shit, shit, shit. I think my wits have already disappeared.
“For?” The corner of his mouth lifts with his mischievous question.
“Never mind.” I’m hoping he’ll let me off the hook, but he’s ready to prod me again when Tony appears, saving me from having to explain how I want to be sober while we have wild sex later. That’s the way my imagination sees it. I could be overreaching in my anticipation, though.
“Can I get you anything else?” Tony asks.
