“What do you mean?” I try to laugh to lighten the mood.
He hiccups and glances down at my chest. “You and me. A redo.”
“A re-what?” My back straightens with his forced proximity.
“I was so awkward in high school. So inexperienced.” He closes his eyes and shakes off the obvious embarrassment before resuming really intense eye contact. “You would have been my first, you know.”
My head jerks at his sharp vibe change. I look over my shoulder to see Dakota walking toward the bathroom while Randal is scrolling on his phone. Guess I’m stuck here alone with a drunk Jeff who wants to have a walk down memory lane. Jesus. I need to get control of this conversation.
I heartily pat Jeff on the shoulder, hoping I’m giving out platonic friendship vibes because that is most certainly all I want from him. “I was awkward too, Jeff. But you were cool and a total gentleman.”
His head bobs up and down. “I’m not so much of a gentleman anymore.”
“Oh?” My nose wrinkles.
He licks his lips and leans in close, the skunky scent of his beer wafting over my face as he murmurs, “I’ve learned a thing or two since junior prom.”
Suddenly, his damp palm inches up my thigh, and I slap my hand over his to stop its pursuit. I’m just about to tell him this isn’t happening when a large body presses up against him.
“Your cab is here, pal,” a deep voice utters, and my eyes nearly pop out of my head when I see Max’s broad frame standing beside Jeff. He grabs Jeff’s hand firmly and yanks it off my leg before helping him up out of his stool.
“My cab?” Jeff’s immaculate brow furrows in confusion as he looks at me. “Are we leaving, Cozy?”
A weird chirping sound emits from my lips because I can’t find any words to make sense of this situation.
“Not her. Just you. I’m afraid the bartender insisted. She’s sorry for overserving you.”
Jeff shakes his head, voicing his denial, “You think I’m too drunk?”
“Yes, we do,” Max answers, placing a hand around Jeff’s back to lead him toward the door. “We thank you for stopping in, but we’d appreciate your cooperation. We wouldn’t want to get the police involved for disorderly conduct.”
“The fuzz?” Jeff bellows, gripping the sides of his head. “No, no, no, no. Don’t call the cops. I’m in law school, bro. I can’t have a criminal record.” His voice cracks on the end as he adds, “Plus, my mom will kill me if I’m dropped off at home by a cop.”
Max nods crisply. “I understand. Then just please make your way out to the cab outside. It’s already paid for.”
Jeff’s head is bobbing in terrified understanding as Max releases him, but he turns back toward me before he leaves. “Cozy, can I get your number?”
“No time for that,” Max barks, stepping between Jeff and me. His shoulders rise with determination as he points at the door. “You need to leave, sir. Now.”
Jeff holds his hands up and nearly falls backward as he scrambles out of the bar without looking back.
When Max turns on his heel and lowers himself into the seat Jeff just vacated, like nothing happened, I wonder if I’ve somehow drunk myself into an alternate universe.
He casually holds a finger up to the bartender, and I faintly hear him ask for a whiskey on the rocks. Though my ears are doing this annoying ringing thing, so I can’t be sure. I watch in astonishment as he takes a sip of the amber liquid before rolling up the sleeves on his black button-down.
Finally, he turns his indigo eyes to me and offers an easy smile. “Hello, Cassandra.”
My lips open and close multiple times, and I fear I might be doing a good impression of that cheesy singing bass wall mount that my dad has hanging in his machine shed. “W-W-What are you doing here?”
His lips turn down curiously as he shakes the ice in his rocks glass. “Having a drink.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re at a bar.” He looks around at all the patrons with a smug look of contentment. Just then, Dakota comes strolling back from the bathrooms, and her jaw drops when she spots Max. She points at him obnoxiously and begins making lewd gestures and thrusting her hips forward.
Thanks, bestie.
“I know we’re at a bar. I’ve been here all night,” I snap, my hands balled up into fists on my lap. “Why are you at this bar? How long have you even been here?”
He shrugs dismissively. “Maybe an hour.”
“Who are you here with?”
“You.” His gaze lowers to my legs, and my body heats involuntarily.
“Who’s with Everly?” I ask, my chest rising and falling with rapid breaths I can’t seem to get control of.
Max sets his glass down and runs a finger around the rim. “Everly is having a sleepover at Uncle Wyatt’s.”
“Oh,” I reply dumbly.
“How was your date?” Max’s eyes narrow as the T on date seems to be difficult for him to say.
“It was okay until a few minutes ago.”
The muscle in his jaw jumps as he inhales deeply through his nose. “Were you flirting with him?”
His question catches me off guard. “When?”
“When you touched his face,” Max responds instantly, his eyes holding mine captive as the entire bar seems to fade to darkness all around us.
My voice is weak when I stammer, “I…touched his eyebrows.”
“You touched his eyebrows?” Max repeats the words like they’re curses. He shoots me an exasperated look and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why would you touch his eyebrows?”
“Because they rival Eugene Levy’s from Schitt’s Creek, and I wanted to see how they felt,” I blurt out honestly because I have no idea how else to explain my behavior. It is undeniably weird.
His head turns forward as his jaw shifts from side to side, his body vibrating with irritation. “You can’t just go around touching men’s eyebrows, Cassandra.”
“Why not?”
“Because it makes them think you want to fuck them.” His voice is acidic as he stares broodingly back at me.
I inhale sharply at his vulgar response. It’s definitely not the way I’m used to him speaking to me. I’m also not used to seeing him at a bar. At my bar specifically. Which is why his opinion on this situation doesn’t mean anything to me.
I jut my chin out defiantly. “Other men’s thoughts are not my problem.”
“No, but they’re mine,” he growls and then swivels in his stool. His denim-clad legs straddle me as he hovers closer, blanketing me in his mouthwatering cologne and the spicy scent of the whiskey on his breath. His brow furrows as he scrutinizes my entire face. “You would really hook up with another man with my mark still on you?”
Jaw? Meet floor.
Blood rushes in my ears as my hand moves to my chest to cover the mark he’s referring to. I’ve been concealing it all freaking week and doing my best to forget about its existence. But him throwing it in my face right now thrusts me right back to that stormy night in my cottage.
That sinful, wild, unforgettable night.
My heart thunders beneath my palm as I attempt to find the breath that has vacated my lungs. “It’s not like this is a brand, Max.”