Baby Be Mine(Spinsters & Casanovas Series Book 1)(15)

“Well, I’m happy to wait.” The bartender smiled at her.

“Well, I’m not happy to wait. I’ve only got five minutes left until midnight. Now are you going to serve me that drink or not?” she challenged.

“No!” the bartender said simply, not backing down.

Her shoulders sagged in defeat. Dear Lord, you will have me become a spinster without allowing me to drink alcohol, is that right? You want me to die a spinster? Well, I’m happy to oblige with that request, but why must you deprive me of alcohol too? I want to experience drinking before I turn thirty. So please, if you would just grant me this wish, then I would be happy to die a happy spinster. And just like that, her strength was back in her shoulders and she lifted herself, sitting much straighter.

What was she giving up for? There were still a full five minutes left before midnight. So she put on her best intimidating stare, the one she normally used when her patients refused to listen to her oral hygiene advice, the one that meant business, wishing and praying at the same time that Whitney and Elise would come back with her wallet in hand so she could get a swig of that drink.

Just then, she heard someone whisper something into her ear, and like electricity shot up her spine, she startled and turned her head to the direction of that voice. And God did answer her prayer because right there in front of her was that Casanova she had delivered the flowers to on the day before Valentine’s.

Her eyes took in his azure irises. There was that same wicked gleam as that fateful day. She redirected her gawking stare away from his penetrating gaze, her heart thumping to the rhythm of the loud music. Big mistake! It landed on his lips instead, and heaven help her, but he flashed that devilish grin again, the one that made her legs turn to jelly. If not for her sitting on the barstool, she would otherwise be on the floor by now.

But tonight, though, that smile held an extra special meaning, as if he were happy to see her again after that embarrassing stunt she had pulled, yanking off his towel. Tonight it was fully displayed, for her viewing only, his perfectly straight white teeth, probably a product of orthodontic work, many years of wearing braces, and bleaching—yes, bleaching to reach that level of whiteness on his enamel. Suddenly, that image of his semi-naked body danced right before her eyes, clouding her cheeks in a beautiful pink blush. So surprised she was seeing him right there in front of her, her face just mere inches away from his own, all she could utter at that moment was, “You!”

Why was it every time this Casanova was around, all she could do was stutter? It wasn’t like she was born with an impediment or something. In fact, she was quite the talkative person. Once she learned how to speak English, her cousins and friends couldn’t shut her up. So why now? Why all of a sudden couldn’t she string a simple sentence together?

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the sweetheart who confessed to me last week.” He spoke seductively, close to her ear. “Did you enjoy the view before you ran off like the devil was on your tail?”

What could she say? How to respond? She was tongue-tied. Then a thought struck her. “Buy me a drink.”

“What?” he asked, flabbergasted. She was sure he wasn’t expecting her to reply like that. But what had she to lose by demanding this request?

“Buy me a drink,” she repeated.

No way was she giving this up. This man looked like he was over twenty-five. He could buy a drink for her.

“Sure, sweetheart,” he said, smiling.

And as simple as cheese melting on toasted bread, Hunter ordered her a shot of whatever it was in that small cup, or glass, or something that looked like a portion cup in her dental practice. Clarice immediately started to question whether that brown murky liquid was actually alcohol at all.