All's Fair in Love and Las Vegas

Intermission-Clay

        My heart was thudding violently in my chest, beating out of control. I could see Kylie behind the bar, smiling and chatting with customers while also moving faster than a tornado. She's so pretty. Yes, she's beautiful and hot and all that jazz, but she's also just really pretty. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, a couple locks hanging in her face. Her bright blue eyes matched her perfect smile, even though I knew that's not what she normally smiled like. Just hearing her voice made my palms sweat, or rather, sweat more than they already were. 

        Waiting until her back was turned (cowardly, I know), I stepped up and took a seat at one of the bar stools. Choosing death, I said, "A glass of scotch, please."

        "Sure," she said, not paying attention to see who it was. I watched, mesmerized, as she expertly poured my glass. Even though it wasn't complicated, she made it look like an art. 

        She finally looked up as she set the glass on the counter. Her smile instantly turned into a glare. "You idiot," she muttered.

        "It's a pleasure to see you too, Miss Borgen," I purred. 

        "Clay. You know you're underage," she said sternly.

        "Or am I?" I asked with a wink.

        "Yes, you are," Kylie said, scowling. "I'm not losing my job just so you can have a drink." 

        "Wasn't asking you to. But see, you've already made it—" I stopped abruptly as she took the glass, tilted her head back, and downed the whole thing in one long gulp. I must've been staring, because she held my gaze as she slammed the glass down on the counter.

        I'd never seen anything so hot. 

        "You were saying?" she asked sweetly.

        "You know that's not how you drink scotch, right?" was all I could think to say.

        Kylie leaned forward, giving me that look that made my heart do backflips. "You know this is not how to flirt with a girl, right?" 

        "Gee, I'm trying my best," I said, rolling my eyes jokingly to cover up the fact that my nerves were higher than a kite. She shook her head and walked away, cleaning up another customer's plate.

        "C'mon Kylie, you can't be mad at me forever," I said more seriously. 

        She raised an eyebrow. "Who said I'm mad?"

        Crap. "Uh, well, you're kinda glaring at me," I said sheepishly.

        "Yes I am. Marvelous observation." She took my (her?) empty glass and walked away again. 

        When she came back from the kitchen, I asked, "Can I at least take you out for dinner?"

        Kylie smiled and leaned against the counter, reaching over and brushing her thumb over my lips before cupping my chin. Now I was in hot water—and she knew it. My breath fell short as she parted her lips. 

        "Clay Roseo Answell, I will not be serving you anything alcoholic. You are eighteen years old. So unless you intend to order soda or water, get out of my bar," she said breathlessly, shoving me away.

        "Kylie, you know you're addicted to me," I teased. "And we haven't even kissed." 

        She bit her lip hard, looking like she was ready to kill someone. Probably me. "Clay, I won't be another one of your playthings. So go find someone else; I'm not interested."