Blame It on the Bikini - By Natalie Anderson Page 0,13

felt her fingers go butter-slippery. She kept thinking about the kiss; heat came in waves—when memory swept over control. She couldn’t stay away when he signalled her over to his end of the bar.

‘I’ve been thinking about the drinks for Lauren’s party,’ he said easily. ‘It would be good to offer something different, right? Not just the usual.’

So that was why he was still sitting there? He was party planning? Not surreptitiously watching her at all?

‘There you go, see?’ Mya said brightly, masking how deflated she suddenly felt. ‘You’ll organise a brilliant party. You don’t need me.’

‘I need your expertise,’ he countered blandly. ‘I don’t think I can ignite alcohol.’

No, but he could ignite other things with a mere look. Mya pulled her head together and focused on the task at hand. ‘You want me to come up with a couple of Lauren-inspired cocktails?’

‘They’re the house speciality, right? So, yeah, make up some new ones, give them a cute name, we’ll put them up on the blackboard.’ He chuckled. ‘Something that’ll be good fun to watch the bartender make. Definitely use a bit of fire.’

‘And ice,’ she answered, then turned away to scoop crushed ice into a glass and wished she could put herself in with it. How could she be this hot? Maybe it was a bug?

‘What would you use to make her cocktail?’ he asked idly. ‘What kind of spirit is Lauren?’

She took the question seriously. ‘Classic bones, quirky overtones. A combination that you wouldn’t expect.’

She turned her back to him and looked at the rows and rows of gleaming bottles. Reached up and grabbed a few and put them on the bar beside Brad. Then she poured. ‘Her cocktail would need to be layered.’ Carefully she bent and made sure each layer sat properly on the next. ‘Unexpected but delicious.’ She smiled to herself as she added a few drops of another few things. Then she straightened and looked at him expectantly.

He just held her gaze.

Finally she broke the silence. ‘You don’t want to try it?’

He studied the vivid blue, orange and green liquid in the glass in front of him. ‘Not unless you try it first. It looks like poison to me. Too many ingredients.’

‘I don’t drink on the job.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘Are you too scared?’

‘Don’t think you can goad me into doing what you want,’ he said softly. But he picked up the glass and took a small sip. He inhaled deeply after swallowing the liquid fire. ‘That’s surprisingly good.’

‘Yes,’ Mya said smugly. ‘Just like Lauren.’

He grinned his appreciation. ‘All right, clever clogs, what cocktail would you put together for me?’

Oh, that was easy. She picked up a bottle and put it on the bar.

He stared at it, aghast. ‘You’re calling me a boring old malt?’

‘It needs nothing else. Overpowering enough on its own.’

‘Well, you’re wrong. There’s another like that that’s more me than a single malt.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Tequila. Lethal, best with a little salt and a twist of something tart like one of your lemons.’

She rolled her eyes.

‘And what are you?’ He laughed. ‘Brandy? Vodka? Maudlin gin?’

‘None. I don’t have time.’

‘You should make time. You shouldn’t work so hard.’

‘Needs must.’ She shrugged it off lightly. ‘And you have to leave now so I can close up the bar.’

‘Have lunch with me tomorrow. We can brainstorm ideas.’

She should have said yes to organising the party on her own. Why had she thought he ought to have active involvement? ‘I’m at class tomorrow. I’m doing summer school.’ She’d be in summer school for the next three years.

‘Okay, breakfast, then.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m working.’

‘This place is open all night?’ His brows lifted.

‘I work in a café in the mornings and some other shifts that fit around my classes and the bar work.’

‘And you work here every night?’

‘Not on Sundays.’

‘Where do you work on a Sunday—the café?’

She nodded, looking up in time to see his quick frown. She rolled her eyes. Yes, she worked hard; that was what people did when they had to. Eating was essential after all.

‘Why didn’t you take a summer internship?’

She turned and put all the bottles back in their places on the shelves. The summer internships at prestigious law firms in the city were sought after. Often they led to permanent job offers once degrees were completed. But she wasn’t going there again, not until her final year of study and she’d recovered her grade average. Not to mention her dignity. ‘I need to keep going with my studies and, believe it