“Don’t tell me you haven’t seen Tombstone.”
His brow crinkled. He shook his head and his lips formed the word “no.”
“No!” I held up my hand and turned my face away before he could utter the damning word. “Don’t tell me. That’s ridiculous. Put that on your to-watch list. Until then, any friendship we may or may not have is temporary.”
He chuckled and relaxed into his seat. “Understood.”
“Okay then. Now. What do you want?”
He laughed harder. “Lovely. You’re still in a great mood. I was worried you would’ve gotten grumpy after frying your feet.” He noticed my dwindling supply of Bad Decisions Juice and turned for the bartender.
I held up a hand. “You don’t need to buy me a drink.”
“I wasn’t going to. You’ve got the situation all wrong.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The bartender stopped in front of us. Her eyes flashed. It didn’t take a genius to know what thought raced through her mind: sex.
“What can I get for you?” she asked.
“A dry gin martini with a twist in a short glass. And a margarita for the lady—”
I held up my hand again. “No thank you, I—”
“She’s paying,” he finished. Then turned to me. “It’s your round. Thanks for the drink.”
My mouth dropped open. The bartender surveyed me for a second before smiling and walking away to get our drinks.
“But just because you bought me a drink, don’t think I’m going home with you,” Brad said seriously, his eyes solemn. “I’m not that kinda guy.”
The guy on the other side of me glanced over. He probably wanted to warn Brad about the herpes…
“Well played, sir,” I muttered, grabbing my straw with a smile.
Brad shrugged. “Only fair, right? I bought you a drink this afternoon. I’ve come to collect.” He glanced through Alcohol Island and the Sea of Faces beyond, probably watching the band. “How did you get out of the sand?”
“Got my feet wet, ran, and then towel-hopped.” I sucked my drink dry. “I made a few enemies. I’m probably not welcome on that beach anymore.”
“I bet.” He looked under the bar at my feet. “Did you buy those, or…”
“Yes. I found a nice little shop near the beach run by someone who clearly has no taste. Or decent sizes. I found these little lovelies front and center.” They were a sort of clear rubber material with sparkles that were extremely popular in the early nineties, decorated with rhinestones and sporting a two-inch square heel. Not only were they the ugliest things in Hawaii, they were the most uncomfortable. “It’s really amazing they weren’t snatched off the rack before I got there…”
“Let’s see.”
I brought my foot up for him to inspect—awkward, considering how close I was to the bar. Electricity sizzled across my skin as he gently grabbed my foot to hold it steady. He nodded as he inspected it, and then lowered it before letting go.
Was it just me, or did his thumb softly stroke across the top of my foot?
Was it just the tequila, or was that extremely intoxicating?
“Congratulations: you found the most hideous shoes on the island.” He smiled at the bartender when she set down the drinks. “Thank you.”
“Just let me know if I can get you anything else,” she said. Her wink at me spoke volumes.
Get it, gurl!
Uh oh, the tequila had gotten a hold of me. This wasn’t good…
“So besides buying ugly shoes that are causing some serious blisters, what else did you do with your day?” he asked in a conversational sort of way. An easy way. That didn’t set off any of my alarms or make me want to punch him with honesty.
I wiped the condensation down the side of my glass. “Drank, mostly. Spread rumors about myself.”
“Spread rumors about yourself?” His eyebrows lifted. “Do tell.”
“Oh, you know, drugs, herpes—I told one guy earlier that I was in the market to buy some pot plants. He was about to tell me how to score some weed when I pretended to reach for my badge. He got lost pretty quickly after that.”
“And this is a normal problem of yours?” he asked.
I was about to say, “Yes, a single woman sitting alone at a bar gets hit on all the time, which is why I seldom go to bars alone,” when he finished with, “You lie a lot?”
I barked out an unexpected laugh and spat all over him. “Sorry!” Laughing harder, I wiped my hand across his face, leaving a trail of wetness from the condensation I’d wiped off my glass. “Oh no. That wasn’t spit!”
Laughing harder, I reached for a napkin at the top of the bar. My balance got away from me. My elbow hit off the bar and I fell, clawing and scratching at the wood, trying to right myself. He reached for me, but caught my wrap instead. I fell into his lap, headfirst. My wrap pulled free as my face hit crotch.