“I find that hard to believe.”
He turned slightly and waited for me to bring the shot to my mouth. Instead of talking myself out of it, I knocked it back and waited for the alcohol’s burn.
Holy shit, no wonder it was twenty-five dollars. I stared at the empty shot glass as my companion let out an amused chuckle. “Good?”
“That was the best shot I’ve ever had in my life,” I said despondently.
“When’s the last time youhada shot?”
Math was hard when you’d drunk what I just drank. I pinched my eyes shut. “High school?”
He laughed. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious.” I ran a hand through my hair and tipped the shot glass back again to see if there was another drop or two remaining. When there was nothing left, I pouted, setting it back down on the counter. “He was right. I don’t get out much, and when this shot hits me, you’ll know why. Or maybe you won’t, because you don’t want to be here, either, and you’ll leave now.”
“You think so? I didn’t even say if you could sit here yet.”
My gaze caught his. “If there was another seat, I’d let you get drunk in peace, but I regret to inform you that this seat is now mine.”
He smirked. “I wouldn’t get drunk even if you weren’t here. I don’t drink and drive.”
Well, wasn’t that an attractive personality trait. He had a lot of those, apparently.
“I’m not getting drunk either,” I sighed. “Any more of those shots and I’ll just get tired and sad. No one wants a weepy girl at the bar.”
When he set his beer down, he leaned in, the space between us disappearing to almost nothing. Heart hammering against my ribs, I went perfectly still at the sudden nearness.
“Until about six minutes ago, I didn’t want to be here either.”
“No?”
“Would’ve given anything to leave.”
“Wh-why didn’t you?”
“I was invited to a birthday party, but I’m not sure they really want me here. I’m not really close to anyone I work with.”
“That’s too bad. I love my coworkers.”
He tilted his head, eyes locked on my mouth. “You’re probably nicer than me.”
“Oh, I’m sure of it.” I didn’t even know his name and I wasflirting. Flirting in abar, with my tits practically hanging out. Were they piping pheromones into this bar? My mind raced for a subject change, even though his eyes gleamed. “Too nice, if anything,” I rushed to say.
“Is that so?”
I glanced pointedly toward the dance floor. “I say yes to things like this just because I know it makes my friend happy.”
He hummed. “People pleaser?”
Why did that feel like such an accusation?People pleaserconjured an image of a doormat who twisted themselves in knots for the approval of other people, even if they were miserable. No one ever called you a people pleaser and meant it as a compliment.
That was someone who couldn’t say no. Who couldn’t stand up for themselves.
I liked to please the people in my life. Make them smile. Make their lives easier. And that was not the same thing.
“No. Not really. But I like doing things that make my people happy.”
“Yourpeople.”