Nice Day For A White Wedding

My adversary swings his dark head back in my direction, and looks amused when he catches me watching him. I kick myself at being caught.

“Does the orange give the drink a certain sweetness that lemon just can’t?” he asks mildly.

I nod, not trusting myself to form an answer with actual words. It’s clear from his mocking expression that he knows I don’t trust myself to speak right now. I stare down into the glass just so I have something to focus on other than him. What I wouldn’t give right now to just be able to say screw the rules and neck that drink. I could do it. I’m the manager. No one is going to object. I don’t though. He is having enough of an effect on me as it is without me bringing alcohol into the equation.

“You have to lift the glass and bring it to your lips,” he taunts.

I feel anger start to swirl inside me. Who the hell does he think he is? I’ve already refused the drink, which he went ahead and bought anyway, and now he thinks he can sit there and order me around.

If I was in a bar and not at work, I would tell him exactly what I think of his chauvinist, piggish attitude, but here, I have to remain professional. I can’t let him see he’s getting under my skin.

“I’ve already told you it is against the casino’s rules for me to drink while on duty,” I say tightly.

I purposely avoid saying the phrase ‘I’m not allowed to drink on duty’ because I won’t let him think I’m being pushed around by anyone.

“Rules are only fun when you break them.” He smiles, that crazy-sexy smile. “Live a little.”

“You have to break rules to have fun?”

“Ah,” he lets the sound linger between us. “You don’t dare.”

“Oh, I dare. I just don’t need to break perfectly legitimate rules to have fun.”

“Said like a true follower of rules. I dare you, Cindy Forrester,” he challenges with a mocking grin.

Dammit. Now he’s done it. It seems he got the measure of me long before I’ve got the measure of him. He knows exactly which buttons to press on me. I never turn down a dare, especially not when it comes from someone who I want to like me. Fuck. I don’t want him to like me. I don’t care what he thinks of me. I just want him gone.

“If I drink it, will you leave?” I say.

He shrugs and watches me with a wry amusement. “Either you want to prove you’re not a sheep blindly following orders or you don’t.”

So that’s a no. I don’t want him to think he’s manipulated me into doing something I don’t want to do, but the drink is starting to look mighty inviting now. Now I’ve asked him to leave, I can’t just walk away from him until he has so maybe I should just see it through. With a sigh I reach out and pick the glass up.

“One drink and then you leave,” I say foolishly.

He ignores my statement and clinks his glass against mine. “Nostrovia.”

He knocks his drink back, but his eyes never leave mine. Despite my instincts screaming at me that this isn’t a good idea I bring my own glass to my mouth.

“Nostrovia,” I echo and take a long drink. Heck, G&T never tasted so good. I put my glass back down on the bar.

“You speak Russian?” he says, an eyebrow raised.

I debate lying but it would be the world’s shortest lived lie if I pretend to speak a language I don’t. And why would I, anyway? It’s not like it matters one bit what he thinks.

I shake my head. “No. That’s literally the one word I know. It means cheers, right?”

“It means ‘to your health’ and is typically used as a toast.”

I remind myself I’m supposed to be angry with him, not chit-chatting about toasts. I straighten my back and keep my face impassive as I down the rest of my drink. Then I slam the glass back down on the bar.

“There! I kept my end of the deal, now it’s your turn.”

“That was your deal, Cindy. I didn’t agree to it.”

He turns back to the bar before I can reply, and asks the bartender for two more.

“Look, I really don’t want another one. I’m working and I’ve still got a long night ahead of me. I don’t intend to get sloppy.”

“Something tells me sloppy isn’t your style.” There is a curiously intriguing look in his eyes. It feels as though he’s looking deep inside of me, reading things about me in my eyes.

He pays for the drinks and pushes mine towards me again. I don’t even glance at the drink. I give him a look that usually gets the message across that I am not playing around anymore. He looks back at me, his own gaze as steely and determined as mine is. I feel a shiver go through me at the sudden change in him. It is like looking at one of those transformer things. One moment it is a harmless toy car that you can play with, next minute is a red-eyed, machine of destruction. I can’t help it. My eyes slide away.