Free Damian by Jessica Wood Page B

could protest, they had grabbed their drinks and left me alone with Damian, who was looking at me with amusement.
    “So I saw you watching me earlier,” he said with a sinful smile.
    I knew what he was talking about, but I didn’t want him to know that. I frowned and cocked my head to the side. “What are you talking about?”
    “Oh, don’t be coy with me,” he teased.
    I rolled my eyes and handed him my credit card for the drinks.
    He laughed and walked over to the cash register to ring me up. I sipped my drink as I watched his every movement. As the wine and the Mind Eraser shot worked their way through my system, everything seemed to slow down and the voices around us disappeared into the background as my entire being—my eyes, my thoughts, and every inch of my body—was transfixed by him.
    When he came back, he leaned against the bar towards me, his face only inches away. “So are you interested in a Damian style shot?” There was a twinkle in his deep blue eyes, and I found it difficult to think.
    “A what?” I finally asked.
    He chuckled. “Well, that’s what you claimed you didn’t see earlier. You can order whatever shot you want. When you make it Damian style, you can take the shot off of the body of the bartender you ordered it from.”
    “Oh,” I said as I realized what the redhead was doing with him earlier. But that doesn’t explain the make-out session or her hands down his pants , a faint voice of reason said inside me.
    He saw the understanding in my eyes and laughed. “That’s what that redhead got earlier. It’s all a part of the Damian’s marketing package,” he said proudly.
    Why is he explaining this to me?
    “So do you want to try it?” he asked and looked at me hopefully.
    “I…” I wasn’t sure how to respond. I knew that the normal thing to do—the safe thing to do—would be to turn around and leave. And yet, every fiber of my body urged me to stay, to do what he’d said, to do anything to be close with him just a little longer.
    And in the end, rational thought lost out to the uncontrollable desire to be near him. I felt myself glued to the barstool as he bored his intense blue eyes into me. He crooked his head slightly, as if he were studying me, as if I were some puzzle he was trying to figure out. I wondered desperately what he was thinking. What I would have given to know what that crook of the neck meant, what that sideways smile twisted on his lips meant, and what his offer meant.
    “Just say yes,” he whispered, and for a brief moment, I saw the same warm blue eyes I had seen that other night when we were alone together.
    I nodded slowly, unable to speak.
    “Perfect. So what kind of shot would you like?” he asked. There was a renewed excitement in his voice, and I felt a wave a pleasure knowing that it was I who had caused that excitement.
    “Uh, a tequila shot?” I suggested, unable to think of anything else with him staring at me so intensely.
    “And where’d you like to take the shot?”
    I looked at him in confusion. What does he mean, where? I’m not planning on moving to a table or anything.
    Then I realized what he really meant: where on his body would I like to take the shot from.
    “Um…I don’t know,” I said. I felt my face grow hot. I knew that I’d been trying to be more adventurous when I moved to this city, but this was not what I’d had in mind.
    “Well typically with the Damian Special, you can do the shot from anywhere on the body, but the alcohol stays in the shot glass and the pants for the male bartenders and the tank tops and skirts for the female bartenders stay on the whole time.” He paused and looked at me.
    My breath caught as I saw the intensity in his piercing blue eyes. They were like the bluest of waters, the deepest of oceans, and I felt myself drowning in them.
    “But with you,” he continued, “because you’re my neighbor, so you’re special, you can do the shot anywhere on me.” He licked his lips as his