Chapter One
Nikolas
The one and a half carat solitaire diamond set in platinum spins around the tip of my finger as I continue to flick it around and around. What a disaster tonight turned out to be. Stopping the ring, I stare at the diamond and shake my head. “Shit,” I mumble as I shove it into my jeans pocket and take a pull from my whiskey and wince. I really shouldn’t have ordered it but beer didn’t seem quite strong enough after the night I had.
If I’d have expected anything but hearing the word yes, and with a whole lot of enthusiasm, might I add, I would never have gone through with that crazy proposal I spent weeks planning.
I get the bartender’s attention and motion for another. I don’t have him cut it with Coke or water or even ice. What’s the point in that when all I really want to do is forget the last three years ever happened? Maybe if I just have him leave the bottle I’ll accomplish my goal.
“Vodka cranberry, hold the cranberry, please,” a quiet voice says beside me.
If she wants to get served, she’s going to have to speak up louder than that.
When my drink is served, I take a healthy gulp, noticing out of the corner of my eye that the dark-haired woman next to me still hasn’t been heard, even though she’s repeated it again.
“And a vodka for her,” I tell him, motioning toward my neighbor to my right with my thumb. “Anything to cut that with?” I ask her even though she already said just a vodka.
With a scowl aimed at the bartender for not noticing her, she shakes her head. “No. Just a vodka.”
“A shot then?” I ask for clarification.
“No. Larger.”
I widen my eyes and look to the bartender who appears slightly amused by her lack of words but that she knows what she wants.
He shrugs and quickly gets to work, places her straight up vodka in front of her and she tips it back, draining the clear liquid from the lowball glass and slamming it onto the shiny surface, spinning her finger around indicating she would like another. Because I’m staring at her — zero shame there because she’s kind of entertaining — I don’t miss the gag that follows or the little cough from the burn of the harsh liquid.
I glance to the bartender and he raises an eyebrow at me as if I’m the deciding factor here.
“She’s not mine.” I let him know, not to be a dick, but I’m not her keeper and by the looks of it, she doesn’t want some stranger making decisions for her.
“I’m no one’s,” she growls angrily. Oh, so now she finds her voice. Though, I gotta say, it’s a pretty adorable voice. She might be trying to sound angry, but it’s not really working out that way.
He pours another two fingers into her glass and it’s barely on the counter in front of her before she chugs it down.
This time the cough is a little more dramatic, complete with pounding on her chest with her fist and a “blech” escaping her throat when she sticks her tongue out. She completes the experience by shuddering.
I chuckle next to her and the bartender hands her a glass of iced water, sliding it across the bar top with one finger. His not-so-subtle suggestion doesn’t get his head bit off, only a grateful smile aimed his way.
She takes a sip and I do the same with my whiskey.
“Another?” the bartender asks skeptically, seemingly not wanting her to continue to get herself hammered, thus making him liable for over serving her. However, she’s not showing signs of being drunk by any means so maybe it’s not at that point yet.
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, curious if she’s going to keep putting the alcohol down quickly.
“Yeah. Please. Maybe something different, though? I mean, stick with vodka because I don’t want to get sick from switching it up but maybe add like lemonade or whatever so it’s not so strong?”
I notice his lips twitch and have to bite back my own laugh. “Sure thing.”
He gets to work on her drink, her eyes never straying from his actions. When he’s finished, he hands her a glass filled with a light pink concoction that she happily takes a sip of.
“Oh my gosh,” she moans. “Mmm. That’s delicious.”
“Thank you.”
“No, thank you! I could have a million of these.”
“Watch it,” he tells her. “They’ll knock you on your ass if you’re not careful.”
“Oh! I need to pay you! How much?”
He totals up her three drinks and she hands him some cash, telling him to keep the change. Then she spins around and looks out at the small crowd, sipping away at her drink at an alarming pace.
“You good?” the bartender asks me, but instead the woman who’s now dancing in her place turns her head, lifts her glass, and replies with a cheerful, “Yup! I’m super good now, thanks for the drink!”
His eyes go wide and he barks out a laugh before he gives her an okay symbol by making a circle out of his thumb and pointer finger.
“And you, my man?”
I look at my glass, polish it off, and hand it back empty. “With Coke, please.”
He nods and takes my empty glass, putting it under the bar. “Comin’ right up.”
He makes quick work of pouring whiskey, Coke, and ice into a glass and hands it over to me. New drink in hand, I pay for my tab and stand up, planning to move to a table. “Thanks, man.”
“Welcome. Let me know if you need another.”
I raise my glass to him. “Thanks. I will.”
“Let me know or you’ll need another?” he asks with a knowing smirk.
“Both.”
“Figured.” He looks around to make sure no one else is waiting for a drink and then leans his elbows on the bar. “Advice even though you didn’t ask?” I shrug and he continues. “Shake her off. Whoever she is, or he, not worth the time, my man.”
“What makes you sure that it’s about a woman?”
He gives me a look and spreads out his arms, like standing behind a bar is all the answer he needs to give. Suppose he’s got a point there.
“You seem to be so sure that she’s not worth it.”
“Anyone who puts that look on your face isn’t worth it.”
“Experience?” I guess.
He confirms with a tip of an imaginary hat toward me and stands straight, turning to help his next customer.
I find a table easily and moments after I take a seat, a waitress stops by with a bowl of peanuts in the shell. “I see you have a drink. You decide to stay for dinner, too?”
“Maybe just some boneless wings.”
“Perfect. Sauce?”
“I’m boring. Regular old buffalo is perfect. Ranch for dipping.”
“Nothing boring about a classic.”
“Did you just give me a line from Bed of Roses?”
Her mouth drops open and she looks at me stunned. “Holy crap! You know that movie?”
“Oh yeah. My sister made me watch it repeatedly one Christmas break.”
“I like your sister. She sounds like an awesome human,” she says, laughing. “I’ll put that order in. Need a water, too? Another drink?”
“Nah. I just got this one so I’m good for a bit, but maybe a water would be good, too.”