My head falls back in laughter, and a confused but playful smile dances on her lips.
“Well, I think you’re kind of a brat, so it is what it is.”
I search her freckled face, looking for any sign of offense, but there isn’t any. Instead, a bit of amusement shines in her blue-green eyes, which makes me like her a little bit more. But not too much more. I can’t imagine most people would react this way if they were called a brat right to their face.
My stare wanders her frame. Even though her shirt is oversized, I can still make out the shape of her tits and waist. Her outfit is causal and thrown together, whereas mine was planned and prepped.
“You sure you have to go?” the douchebag bartender asks Stevie as he places her credit card and receipt on the bar top in front of her.
“I do.” Her tone is laced with regret. “Thanks for the drinks, Jax.”
Jax? Even his name screams, I’m a tool.
“Yeah, thanks, Jax,” I add his name on in a condescending tone. “But you can go now.”
“Excuse me?” both Stevie and the bartender say at the same time.
“You can go now,” I repeat, brushing him away with a simple motion.
Jax looks from Stevie back to me, his expression full of confusion before he shakes his head and walks away.
“Why are you such a prick?” she asks, her tone full of disgust.
Well, that’s a loaded question, so instead, I deflect.
“That guy is a prick.”
“No, that guy was nice, and we had good banter. You just ruined it.”
“You weren’t going home with him anyway.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re leaving with a full beer still on the counter and half a game left to watch.”
She shifts the two receipt slips on the bar top. “He left me his number,” she smugly adds, nodding towards the receipt on the bar. “And the night is still young.”
Without thinking, I grab it from the bar and rip it into pieces that would be too small for her to put back together. And I’m not quite sure why I did that other than I like pissing her off.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Doing you a favor, Stevie. You can thank me later.”
“Fuck you, Zanders.”
I pause for a moment as I study Stevie’s face, noting the real anger spewing off her.
“Your little bartender boyfriend was grabbing that waitress’s ass”—I nod towards a blonde server at a table—“every time they passed in and out of the kitchen. Then when she wasn’t looking, he was making out with that waitress”—I motion towards a different one, this one with brown hair—“by the bathroom. Now I’m not opposed to multiple women, but at least I make sure they know about each other. This guy is a tool.”
“You’re lying.”
“I don’t lie.”
Stevie’s eyes flicker with disappointment before regaining their faux confidence. “Well, maybe I don’t care,” she challenges.
“You care.”
“You’re an ass.”
“We’ve been over this, Stevie. I already know.”
I take a twenty-dollar bill out of my wallet, placing it down for her tip. This guy shouldn’t be getting a cent from her or me, but I especially don’t want her over-tipping when he was being a sleaze all night.
“I have my own money.”
“Good for you.” I condescendingly pat her shoulder. “Okay, now spill.”
“Spill what?”
“Why are you following me? Are you in love with me already, Stevie? Slow your roll, sweetheart. It’s only been one day.”
She lets out an arrogant laugh. “You’re in love with yourself.”
“Someone’s gotta be.” The statement holds way more truth than she realizes.
Her eyes flicker back to the television screen above the bar. “Are you a Devils fan?”
She ignores me, keeping her attention locked as the time clock winds down into halftime.
“Huh?” she absentmindedly asks as the Devils’ point guard takes a shot at the buzzer but misses, causing the game to go into halftime tied. “Dammit.”
“You’re a Devils fan,” I repeat, this time as a statement and less as a question. But I don’t like that she ignored me the first time. I’m not used to that.
“Yeah. Something like that.” She swings her purse strap over her shoulder and across her chest, separating her tits. My eyes fall right to them. Her body is banging, full of curves. She should show it off, not cover it up with baggy and oversized clothes that seem like they’ve seen better days.