Strip Me Down

Chapter Two

- Ryan -

Six shots. Four of which had been dumped into glasses of cheap red wine. A meek three hours had gone by and the little green vegetable was somehow not yet on her ass, rather had just ordered another shot and glass instead.

I cringed when she dumped that one in too, wanting to gag and throw it out and at the same time slap her upside the head for doing it in the first place.

Her silvery eyes began to lift and I shot my gaze away, overseeing the depleting dance floor and half-empty barstools. The music was loud and people laughing and singing while grinding were louder, which as a Thursday night should've surprised me, but not much did anymore.

Did no one work tomorrow? For fuck's sake.

The slightest of flinches in my peripheral caught my attention. Aaron, one of my regulars, was now plastered to the side of the little green monster of a woman on the end stool. Whispering something to her that I'd never hear, I watched the corner of her eye twitch in obvious discomfort. Only when he pulled away did she force herself to smile for him to see.

My ass hit the well and I crossed my arms over my chest, watching a moment. Curious. She had clearly been uncomfortable, but if I hadn't seen that initial flinch and twitch, I had a feeling I'd believe the flirty smile she now wore to be genuine too.

I wondered how often she had to wear one, and why she'd perfected it.

Aaron leaned in with pursed lips.

"Last call!" I yelled, kicking away from the metal behind me.

With the girl's attention back on me, she sipped—chugged—the contents of her glass and nodded, holding up two fingers and the emptied shot glass. Sliding from her barstool, she grabbed her fancy wallet and headed towards the bathrooms, leaving Aaron standing alone with a frown.

He turned to me. I shrugged, holding back both a laugh and an eye roll.

Sucks to suck, dude.

When Aaron gave up waiting and she returned, I set only one shot glass on the counter before her—a shot glass filled with water. She frowned but threw it back. All of a sudden, that perfected flirty smile was now turned to me.

"Now that isn't very nice. Cutting me off when you're about to close? Are you going to at least do one with me to make up for sucking out all the fun?"

Unruly hands waving behind me had me turning. Attending to the other customers quickly, I had my back to the newcomer until a hair on my neck prickled. With a roll of my eyes, I reached blindly behind me and grabbed the bottle from hands I knew more than instantly were hers.

"Not nice!" she groaned.

"You'll get over it, little broccolini."

"Brocco—What?! Fuck, at least Rachel gave me the long and skinny veggie and called me asparagus. You give me a short, shitty, disgusting one?"

"To be fair, you are short."

"I'm literally five nine."

Without looking down from the playful glare she held me in, she reached for her shot and threw it back. No flinch, no twitch. A clean toss that had me wanting to flinch and twitch. Bottom shelf vodka was worse than sewage water, and she treated it like a fucking Pepsi.

"Short to me, Veggietale." I waved a hand up and down, fingers aimed at myself. "Six five."

When that damned smile was turned back to me, she held it with such grace I actually found myself wondering if it was real. Maybe it had been the whole time and I'd misread the twitch earlier. I braced the palm of my hand on the bartop, holding eye contact, trying—and failing—to figure out the answer.