I blow out a long breath and plan on sticking to all this politeness between us. But instead I say, “What are you doing here?”
A smile lifts the corners of his mouth. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
His gaze flickers over me, so fast and fleeting I’m not sure I didn’t imagine it. He shrugs. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”
That sets my teeth on edge, so I wave a hand over the near-deserted bar. There’s only five people in here, not including us and the bartender, and plenty of open spots. “Well, my reasons aren’t at all mysterious. I came here to drink alone, so if you don’t mind.”
Of course he sits down next to me.
I raise a brow. “So you do mind?”
His attention slides to my drink, and he signals the bartender. “Another round for her, and I’ll take a shot of what she’s having and a Pabst.”
“I don’t want another round,” I say, just to be stubborn.
He chuckles. “Then don’t drink it.”
I hate that he doesn’t argue with me. It’s annoyed me since he stepped into my office that first time. It makes me want to pick a fight—an impulse I ignore, but with the shots and a light dinner, I’m fuzzy.
“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.”
“Suit yourself,” he says, and the bartender returns with our drinks.
Caden stands, pulling money out of his pocket.
The bartender points at me. “She’s got a tab.”
“I’ll settle it.”
Like he has the right. I frown. “No, don’t settle it.”
The bartender looks at him, then at me, then back at him. “I’ll let you two figure it out.” He walks away.
I point to the empty seat at the end of the counter. “Did you not hear me say I want to be alone?”
“I did.” He points to the shot glass. “You gonna let me do a shot all by myself?”
“You would have been doing it all by yourself if I wasn’t here.”
“But you are here,” he points out, oh so helpfully.
I contemplate throwing the tequila in his face, but that seems a bit too dramatic and wouldn’t really work in my favor. Not only does it show my cards, it wastes perfectly good alcohol.
Doesn’t mean I can’t work out a deal.
I scowl. “If I do a shot with you, will you leave me alone?”
“Probably not.” He grins.
I think he intends it to be all good natured and disarming, but it doesn’t come across like that.
Heat kicks up low in my belly. I shake my head. “You know, I kinda hate you.”
“Oh, I know you do.” He laughs, and it hardens my nipples under the thin cotton of my tank top.
“I find you annoying.” I straighten my spine, feeling justified. Which is probably the liquor. But isn’t that the point of drinking? To justify your actions while you’re in the headspace to not give a shit about the consequences?