“Not your type?” Paul took a not-so-subtle look at the girls.
Des walked over to the shelves where the spirits were housed and shook his head. “Not my type at all.”
“Then you won’t mind if I strike up a conversation with the blond one?” Paul was a ladies man, and he liked his ladies forward and fair-haired. Lucky for him, First was full of his type over the weekend.
“Whatever you do on your own time is up to you, bud, but you’re on the clock, so don’t even think about it.”
“You’re such a buzz kill.” Paul flipped a bottle of vodka and poured a shot into the cocktail shaker in front of him.
Des often wondered how he and Paul were related—they were chalk and cheese, despite having identical mops of dark hair, darker eyes, and a shared affinity for home cooked Italian food. The younger Chapman brother was his opposite in almost every way—Paul thrived on fast and frequent rotations of the women in his life. He avoided responsibility and seemed quite content to float through life without ambition. He was a good person at the heart of it all, but Des often found himself wishing his brother would grow up and take charge of his life.
“I’m running a business, Paul.” He rearranged the bottles that had been carelessly stacked out of order. “Not a personal pick-up service.”
“Hey, don’t take your frustrations out on me.” Paul said, vigorously shaking the cocktail shaker and putting on a show for the ladies sitting at the bar. “Not my fault you refuse to get laid.”
“Not all of us have the desire to fuck anything that moves.”
Paul put his palm to his chest. “That hurts. You know I only go for blondes.” He opened the cocktail shaker and poured the pink milky liquid into two tulip-shaped glasses. He pressed a wedge of lime onto the rim of each glass and signalled to a waiter.
“Seriously, Des, this is becoming a problem. The staff are tiptoeing around you because you’re such a cranky bastard right now.” Paul clapped a hand on Des’s back. “Let me help you out. I’m sure one of those lovely ladies would be more than happy to help you let go of some of that negativity. You can have the brunette…or the redhead. Or both.”
“I’m not interested.” Des shrugged off his brother’s hand and continued to rearrange the spirit shelf.
“No, because you’re too hung up on that girl who brings all her dates here.” Paul rolled his eyes. “Can’t you see what’s wrong with that picture?”
“I’m not hung up on her.”
“Bullshit. Whenever she comes in you watch her like a hawk and get all moony when she finally gets rid of her guy.” Paul plucked an order from the bar and started working on the next round of cocktails. “It’s pathetic. If you like her, why don’t you take her out?”
Paul didn’t know about his trip to the market with Gracie, which was probably for the best. He wouldn’t understand something more complicated than a screw-and-dash. Paul kept his dalliances frequent and varied but brief above all else.
His younger brother had barely entered his twenties when Des’s engagement had fallen apart, and he had been there to ply Des with alcohol until he forgot. His brother was the one who’d helped him wallow, then pushed him to get back out into the dating field, and had supported his idea to open First. He might be the most irresponsible person Des knew, but his brother had stuck by him through a lot of crappy times.
Would he be asking Paul to do that all again if he kept chasing what he couldn’t have?
“It’s not that easy.”
“Yeah it is.” Paul nodded towards the bar. “She’s right there. Ask her out.”
Gracie hovered by the bar. She looked different; her olive skin was clear and glowing, her wild curls restrained into a neat bun on top of her head. There were no dangly earrings, no rose-colored lips, and she wore jeans and a simple white shirt. He’d never seen her in jeans before.
“I didn’t recognize you, Gracie.” He sauntered over, enjoying the way her cheeks flushed as he drank her in. The tension he’d been holding in his shoulders the last few days melted away, his chest loosened, and the world felt right again.
“I wanted to talk.” Her dark brows gathered. He got the feeling this was Gracie’s game face, though she still looked cute as hell.
“Shoot.”
“In private.”
Des nodded and motioned for her to come to the other end of the bar. He held the swing door open and let her into the serving area. She followed him to the office. The space felt even more cramped than usual with Gracie next to him; her glorious vanilla scent was intoxicating in the open air, let alone when they were confined in what was essentially a glorified cupboard.
He motioned for Gracie to take the office chair and he locked the door behind them. The last thing he wanted was anyone barging in when he finally had Gracie to himself. Leaning against the desk next to her, he said, “Talk to me.”
“I…” She took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize for the other night, and for not taking your call. I was still processing what happened.”
“The date?”
“Well, the kiss more specifically.” Her cheeks colored again, though this time the blush spread all the way down to the open collar of her white shirt. “And that I took your words out of context.”
“How so?”
“You said we could be ‘right for now.’ I assumed you viewed me as a one-night stand.”
Des nodded slowly, holding his tongue so she had her opportunity to get it all out.
“And,” she continued, “that was me jumping the gun. You never mentioned anything about sleeping together. You only invited me to your place. I don’t know why my mind went there and it was rude of me to say something like that.”
“Gracie.” He leaned forward and placed his hands on her shoulders, the heat of her skin simmering underneath the thin cotton. “I did invite you back to my place because I wanted to sleep with you.”
“Oh.” Her mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ and she fiddled with one of her pearl earrings.
Des leaned back, dropping his hands to his lap. “That doesn’t mean I think of you as a one-night stand. But it also doesn’t mean I’ve stopped fantasizing about getting you naked.”
“Oh.” She flamed brighter still, then lowered her eyes as she nodded her head slowly. “Well…at least you’re honest.”
“That I am.” He chuckled. “Perhaps you’re more innocent than I thought.”
“Why do you say that?” Her eyes snapped back up to his and she pursed her lips.
She looked prim as a society wife with her pearl earrings and white shirt. If it weren’t for the high gloss and spike heel of her black pumps, he’d have thought he was looking at another woman entirely.
“Call it a gut feeling.”
She dragged her lower lip between her teeth and Des averted his eyes. Without the wild hair, jangling jewellery, and sassy attitude, she looked younger, more vulnerable. He’d never once suspected she hid behind those things, but seeing her now was like witnessing her stripped back to her essence.
Protective urges flared within him, but he resisted…he had to. There was no way he’d take advantage of a moment of her weakness or insecurity. He certainly wouldn’t start something unless she gave him the okay, even if he was about to spontaneously combust. He gripped the hard edge of the desk, anchoring himself.
“Looks like you’ve figured me out,” she said, her tone even and guarded. “I’m Gracie Greene: conservative, innocent, and inexperienced. My mother is desperate to marry me off because she thinks I’m going to turn into a spinster and all she cares about is amassing grandchildren. I date guys who are wrong for me, and the one guy I do have a connection with has realized what a fraud I am.”