Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“You’re observant. I’ll give you that much.” He sighed like admitting I was right cost him more than he wanted to pay. “Yes, I like desserts. But not too sweet.” He pointed at his abandoned drink. “This is almost cloying. Not sure how I stomached it in college.”
“See? Bad at drinking.” I laughed as my brain raced through possibilities he might enjoy more. “So sweet but not too sweet. Where do you stand on coffee?”
“Hook me to a caffeine IV. Especially after I just pulled four twelve-hour shifts. However, I drink it black unless it’s truly terrible brew.”
“Admirable.” I wanted to unravel all his restraint in the worst way, indulge him. Someone like him who worked long, hard hours needed spoiling. “Life’s too short to not sprinkle in a little sugar if you ask me. Where do you stand on citrus?”
“It’s fine.” He made a vague gesture that said more than his words.
“In other words, it’s not chocolate and not your favorite. Don’t worry, Doc. I’ve got you.”
“You can call me Quinn, please. I’m off duty until Thursday.”
“Lucky you.” My own days off were few and far between, a hazard of the tavern still being relatively new, with a tight profit margin. “And I’m Adam. I think I have what you need. Give me a sec here.” I started assembling ingredients before pausing to look up. “Any nut or other allergy I should know about?”
“No. But thanks for asking.”
“No problem.” I retrieved a few things from the bar fridge. “Wanna tell me about your bad day while I mix this up?”
Quinn made a startled noise. “How did you know?”
“Observant, remember? And you’re bad at drinking, which tells me you don’t make a habit of this. I’m betting the strongest thing you have at home is red wine. Must have been a hell of a shitty day to have you here and throwing it back to your college days.”
“Maybe I just felt like a change.” Expression mulish behind those hipster glasses of his, he tilted his chin stubbornly.
“Uh-huh.” I wasn’t buying it. Prepping his glass, I kept my voice conversational. “I have a pretty strong stomach. I hunt. You can tell me if it was something gruesome while on call.”
“It’s not work.” Quinn groaned, then shook his head. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Ah. You have come to the right place then.”
Yup. I’d been correct. From the moment Quinn had slunk in and sat down, I’d pegged him as having some sort of heartache. The way relationship troubles frequently drove people to seek solace at the bar was a big reason why I tended to avoid anything long-term. I liked my drinking recreational, not medicinal.
I slid the cocktail toward him. “Here you go.”
“What is it?” He studied the glass.
It was a minor work of art, in my admittedly biased opinion. The martini glass was rimmed with sugar and cocoa, the sides decorated with two colors of chocolate syrup. After pouring the chilled vodka and liqueur, I’d finished it with a small liqueur truffle on a skewer.
“Dark-chocolate hazelnut martini. You’ll think you’re being all kinds of naughty and letting yourself have a brownie, but it’s got a nice kick too.” I waggled my eyebrows at him because, yeah, I had Quinn’s number. He wanted to indulge far more than he apparently allowed himself. I wondered what else he craved that he didn’t let himself have. More of that delicious heat gathered at the base of my spine. “And it’s not too sweet. I make the hazelnut liqueur myself from local ingredients. Good stuff. Cheers.”
He took a cautious first sip. “Oh. This is good.” His next taste was much bigger.
“Careful there. Like I said, it’s strong. Want to order something from the appetizer menu to go along with it?” It was late, and the kitchen would be closing for the night shortly, but I figured I could wheedle some truffle fries out of Horatio, who was manning the grill since Logan took an early night. Food would slow down Quinn getting drunk, giving me more time to get my flirt on.
“I’m good with the drink hitting fast.” He took another determined swallow.
“If it’s a major buzz you’re after, I’ve got a dark-chocolate White Russian recipe I’ve been perfecting lately as well. I might try that one on you next if this one doesn’t do the trick, but first, how about you tell me your plans for getting home?”
“Home?” He frowned, then licked a stray bit of chocolate on his lower lip. That curious pink tongue was slowly killing me here. “I don’t want to go home.”
“Yeah, I got that. But I can’t get you toasted and let you drive.” I had absolutely no problem helping people get smashed if that was their aim, but I drew a hard line at drunk driving.