I barely have a chance to wave before Elliot has me by the arm and is hauling me and his uncooperative luggage toward the bar. “Babe?” he says with a snort. “What a tool.”
“What’s wrong with him?” I ask, feigning innocence as I’m marched to the bar.
“You cannot be serious right now. No. Just no.” Elliot yanks his winter scarf off like it’s choking the life out of him. He tosses it on the bar. “It’s so fucking hot in here.”
“I think it’s fine.” I pull out a stool and climb onto it, secretly delighted by how flustered he is. That has to be a sign that he’s been giving serious thought to my request. “Maybe you’re coming down with something. You seem irritable.”
“Irritable? I’m not a six-month-old with colic.” Elliot holds his hand up for the bartender. “I’m sorry if I interrupted your shopping.”
That confuses me because he doesn’t sound sorry at all. I reach for a drink menu that appears to have been created just for tonight. There are specialty holiday cocktails that sound yummy. I’m only planning to take a sip or two, but it is New Year’s Eve, after all. “Oh, this one is called the Disco Ball. I want to try that.” I glance over at my best friend. “And I wasn’t shopping. I just wanted to check on how the displays looked at our Kathy’s Kountry Store pop-up.”
“I didn’t mean that you were grabbing a peppermint scented candle. I meant I interrupted your sperm shopping with Jumbo Dumbo over there.” He jerks a thumb in the direction of the gift shop.
My jaw drops. The bartender appears with a smile.
“What can I get you two?”
“I’ll take a Blanton’s bourbon.”
Most of the time I forget that Elliot is a billionaire, but sometimes it peeks out. While there are much more expensive bourbons on the market, that he has a preference and knows it will be accommodated is something that comes naturally to him. He’s used to life easily flowing for him.
“Two Blanton’s, actually,” he adds. “Or two in one glass. Whichever is easier. I’ll be drinking them both rapidly.”
The bartender, who probably has heard every demand there is, just nods, unconcerned. “How about you, ma’am?” he asks.
He looks a decade younger than me and seems to be struggling to grow a moustache, but I’m still a little startled to be smacked with a “ma’am” as we roll into my thirty-fifth year.
Definitely time to have a baby. My clock is ticking loud enough that even a youthful bartender can hear it.
“How is the Disco Ball?” I ask. “I’m not a fan of gin, normally.”
“You’ll barely taste it,” he assures me. “Though you’ll feel it.” He gives me a wink.
“I’ll take that then, thanks.” I shoot him a smile.
“Did you invite me here to watch you flirt with everyone on two legs with a penis?” Elliot says, sounding outraged. “Or am I acting as a sperm consult? If that’s the case, both of those are a hard no.”
“What’s wrong with the bartender?” I ask, curious. “You’ve known him for all of two seconds. He seems pleasant enough.”
“He’s too young.”
“That doesn’t matter when it’s just a donation. He wouldn’t be helping me parent in any way.” Not that I’m interested in ordering sperm from the bartender along with my Disco Ball, but Elliot has me on edge. I study the specialty drink menu again, struggling to find the right words. Elliot may be acting jealous, but he’s also acting like he has zero intention of coughing up sperm for me.
Argh! If only I hadn’t screwed this up so badly the first time.
But not again. I’m not going anywhere near this conversation with Elliot without my spreadsheets. Which means I need to get him up to our room, calm, and in a receptive frame of mind.
I swallow hard. “Can we talk about this please?”
“We are talking about it.”
“No, I mean, upstairs. In our room. Where we can we have a private, in-depth discussion. I have a few points I’d like to make.” Selling points. That’s what I mean. I’m going to sell it to him hard.
The bartender returns, much quicker than I was expecting. “One Disco Ball for the lady. Two Blanton’s for the gentleman in one glass. And a little extra something on the house.”
He sets down a third drink, right between us. It’s dirty looking, with an orange peel and chunks of cherry floating in it.
“What is this?” Elliot asks.
“That’s our drink of the night,” Kayley chirps from behind us. “It’s called the Dumpster Fire, isn’t that hilarious?”
I chuckle weakly, hoping this isn’t a sign of how my Give Me Your Sperm presentation to Elliot is going to go.
Chapter Six
ELLIOT
“Come on, then, drink up!” Kayley sweeps her hands toward our drinks. “You only have five minutes before the sledding competition.”
“Sledding competition?” I growl.
Because that’s what I do now, apparently.
I growl, and I glare holes in the foreheads of strangers, and I act like a fucking territorial caveman around my best friend.
I would say I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I’m beginning to think I do know. And I think it’s something far more dangerous than a few steamy sex dreams…
“Did I say something wrong?” Kayley asks, her pale forehead furrowing. “Was someone you know injured in a sledding accident or something?”
“No, he just has a pine cone up his butt,” Nancy says pleasantly. “But he’s going to run to the bathroom and pull it out before we go sledding. Aren’t you, Elliot?”
“I am,” I assure Nancy. Then, forcing a smile for Kayley, I apologize and thank her profusely for inviting me to her party.
“Of course!” She beams. “My pleasure. Any friend of Nancy’s is a friend of mine.” With her freckles, easy smile, and wild red curls, Kayley would usually be just my type, but I’m not even considering hitting on this woman.
It’s another sign that up is down and down is up and that I can’t be trusted to make good decisions right now. I should call Bran and tell him to turn the SUV around and come get me—do not pass go, do not spend the night cock-blocking any man who dares to get within five feet of Nancy.
Instead, I toss back my bourbon, wincing only slightly as it burns a trail down my throat. Then I clap my hands together. “Point me toward the nearest sled. I’m ready.” I nudge Nancy in the ribs with my elbow, making her giggle—a real giggle, not that fake flirty one she gave Sven, the wretched ski monster—which makes me feel a little better. “I’m going to kick your butt. You’ll be eating my snow all the way down the mountain, woman.”
“It’s actually a team race,” Kayley says. “So, you two can ride together. Oh, this is going to be so much fun. New Year’s Eve Day is my favorite day of the year! See you on the north lawn in five!”
She bounces off to cajole more guests into joining the fun, leaving Nancy and I alone. She holds my gaze for a meaningful beat before she asks, “You okay with being on my team? If not, I bet Sven wouldn’t mind—”