Eros (Contemporary Mythos Book 4)
Eros: Chapter 6

“A Stewart, aye?” His caramel eyes sparkled with a grin just as radiant. He motioned at a nearby table, pulling out a seat for me.

“Aye. Have a problem with that, MacFarlane?”

“Impressive.” He sat after slinking off his black trench coat. “Your accent is spot on.”

“My da is from the motherland. I grew up hearing it.”

He leaned casually in his chair. “Yeah? What’s his name?”

“Don’t laugh.” I let my bottom lip roll past my teeth. “John.”

Graeme’s head tilted back as he let out a hearty chuckle. “No shite.”

“Hey. I said not to laugh.” I joined in with the chuckles, playfully swatting his forearm.

His gaze fell to where I’d hit him, his eyes softening before lifting to my face. “Have you been to the ‘motherland’ as ye call it?”

“Every year since I was ten.”

He rested his chin in his hand. “A woman connected to her culture. I adore that.”

The fact I felt compelled to say something as corny as “I adore you” made my stomach gurgle. And this time, I wasn’t even tipsy.

“How long have you been in Canada?” I busied my hands, folding a paper cocktail napkin.

He counted on his fingers. “Four years, three months, and ten days. Give or take.”

“What brought you here?” I rested my chin in my hand, mimicking him.

“I’m a sports agent and landed a hockey client.”

“Hockey. The one sport that doesn’t bore me to tears.”

“Yeah? Is that what brought you here? Your accent sounds American.”

“You got a sharp ear. I grew up in Colorado. Moved here to start a business.”

He ran a thumb under his bottom lip, and I noted how much fuller it was then the top one. “A businesswoman too. This keeps getting better.”

“You’re not going to ask me what kind of business?”

He scratched the light stubble on his cheek. “I figured you’d have told me when you said you started up a business. I’m not one to pry.”

My chest hummed.

“How about I get us some drinks?” I propped my chin in both hands with a brightened smile.

“A lass offering to get me a drink? I’m flattered.”

Little did he know it was mostly because I had a deal with the bartender.

“My pleasure. What’s your poison?”

“Whiskey’ll do fine.”

“You don’t say.” I winked at him before making my way to the bar, humming Return to Me by Dean Martin.

Eric leaned over the bar in the corner, speaking with a brunette who looked like she’d been crying. Her hands flailed around as she talked, and Eric gently wrapped them both within his massive grasp. She took two big breaths, and the red neon glint from the overhead signs made the bracelet on her wrist sparkle—their hands clasped together in a glowing, glittery embrace. Eric let go and pointed behind her. A man with a shaved head walked in from outside, one hand in his front jeans pocket, the other rubbing his neck. She gasped and leaped off her stool, nearly knocking the man over as she jumped into his arms.

Eric rubbed his temples before noticing me and smiling. He snapped the towel over his shoulder as he neared. “Judging from the glow on your face, I take it things are going well?”

I crossed my arms in a huff. “We have this bet going, and you’re still playing matchmaker?”

“What do you—” He quirked a brow and caught sight of the happy couple cooing behind me. “Ah. Right.” He gave a lopsided grin. “I guess I can’t help myself.”

“Well, you’re going to have to when I win, remember?”

“If you win, I’d probably end up moving.”

The statement gave a peculiar feeling of disappointment, settling over my chest like an oil slick.

“Whiskey. Neat.” I peeked at Graeme over my shoulder. Graeme scrolled through his phone, and we caught gazes as he, too, stole a glance at me.

“Any particular kind?”

After grinning at Graeme, I whipped my attention back to Eric. “Do you have Johnnie Walker?”

“Yes?”

“Perfect. One for me too.”

He twirled a tumbler glass in his palm. “After your surprise special drink. Remember?”

“Fine.”

He grabbed the Black Label bottle of scotch and tossed it over his shoulder into the opposite hand from behind him.

My insides somersaulted. “What’s with the show?”

“Don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

His teeth glinted as he poured some of the amber-colored liquid into the glass. “Occasionally, I’ll bust out the moves for bigger tips and well, to show off.”

“You don’t need to show off to me, Eric. This—” I swept a hand in front of my body. “Is a dead end.”

“I was referring to the bachelorette party that walked in.” He licked the corner of his lips, following the group of women with the predatory focus of a vulture.

I snapped my head to the right, glaring at the scantily clad trio wearing penis-shaped plastic glasses, flashing penis-shaped necklaces, and Ring-Pops on all fingers. The bleach-blonde had a silver tiara with pink feathers, the word “bachelorette” arching over the top.

Rolling my eyes, I turned back to Eric. “So, where’s my—”

He slid a tall hurricane glass filled with cloudy white liquid, crushed ice, and a brown powder sprinkled on top.

“Do I want to ask?” I sniffed it, taking in notes of Amaretto.

He leaned forward. “A Screaming Orgasm.”

My stomach clenched, flipped, and twisted.

“Because you may as well be having one right there in the stool over Mr. MacFarlane.” The corner of his mouth twisted, and he nudged the glass closer.

My eyes dropped to the cleft in his chin before snapping back to his gaze.

“Carry on, Miss Stewart. You’ve got eternal compatibility to replace.” He jutted his chin behind me and walked to the bachelorette party.

The women sat up straighter once spotting him. Two of them twirled their hair, and the bachelorette squeezed her visible cleavage together.

Growling, I snatched the drinks and walked back to Gorgeous Graeme.

“Hey, you made it back. Thought I was going to have to come over there and steal you.” He beamed at me.

“Sorry, the service can be finicky in here sometimes.” I handed him the scotch before taking my seat.

“Thank ye.” He sipped it, and his eyes fell shut with a gratified sigh. “Walker. Prime choice.”

“Glad to hear it. I love the smoky undertones it has.” I stared at the golden liquid sloshing around in his glass, envious I didn’t have my own instead of one of Eric’s orgasms.

I made a strangled chirp sound and pinched my thighs together.

Graeme cocked a thick eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“Dry throat.”

“You…have a drink there, lass.” His eyes sparkled.

I stared down at the Screaming Orgasm mocking me. “I certainly do.”

I took a long sip—creamy, frothy, and disgustingly delicious. A hum tingled in my belly, a moan vibrating in the back of my throat. After a few more pulls on the straw, I opened my eyes to replace Graeme staring at my empty glass wide-eyed.

I let the straw snap from my mouth, dabbing the corner of my mouth with a finger. “Guess I was thirstier than I thought.”

“And she can handle her alcohol.” Graeme shifted closer. “You’re going to have to start having some downsides, Clan Stewart, or I might not think you’re human.”

My cheeks flushed.

“Ye want another?” He pointed at my glass filled with nothing but ice and remaining tendrils of orgasm.

“Yes. But not one of these. Smelling that scotch of yours, I can’t help but want one myself.”

He went to grab my glass, but I wrapped a hand over his arm. “I got it.”

“Ye sure? You got the last one.”

I shot to my feet. “Positive. It helps me get my steps in, you know?” Wiggling my wrist with the non-existent fitness tracker on it, I power-walked back to the bar, slamming the glass down to get Eric’s attention.

Eric arched a brow over his shoulder, holding a finger up at the hen harem. They all made pouty faces as he walked away.

“Is there a problem?” He folded his arms, stretching the plaid pattern of his shirt over those bulging biceps.

Focus.

“Yeah. What’d you put in this drink? It made my…stomach feel weird.”

He dipped his chin. “Mm. What kind of feeling? Can you describe it to me?”

“I’d rather not.” Heat shot up the back of my neck.

“Nausea?”

I shook my head.

“Tingles?”

I shrugged.

He unfolded his arms and leaned in further. “A sort of tightening twist?” The words rolled off his tongue like a delicate lick on an ice cream cone.

My stomach flew into pole vaults.

A woman squealed from behind me. “There’s my beautiful boy.” She jumped past me, her bright blonde hair smacking me in the face as she leaned over the bar to hug Eric.

Eric’s face paled, reluctantly receiving her embrace. “What are you doing here?”

I sputtered, picking a piece of her hair from my mouth.

“I need an excuse to see my son?”

My eyebrows shot to the ceiling. Son? The woman looked my age. Maybe younger.

Eric laughed, making sideway glance gestures toward me. “Elani, this is my uh—ex-girlfriend, Ven…a.” He paused, balling his fist at his mouth like he held back bile. “I used to call her uh—‘mami,’ hence the nickname.” He coughed into his fist.

Vena glared at him before turning her face at me. Her expression melted, eyes widening for a millisecond.

“Wow, Eric. T.M.I. but, nice to meet you.” With a wince, I held my hand out to her.

She didn’t shake it. Instead, she stepped forward until her head was inches from mine. “What did he say your name was?”

I leaned back, lifting my empty glass in front of me like a shield. “Elani?”

“How interesting.” Her bright blue eyes locked onto me, and she raised one porcelain-like hand toward my cheek.

Eric grabbed her arm. “Don’t even think about it, Vena.”

I shook my head, brain fuzzy and out of sorts. Rubbing my temple, I set the glass on the bar. “Eric, could I get another scotch, please?”

He kept his gaze focused on Vena with a clenched jaw. “I’ll bring it to your table.”

As she tapped her pink manicured nails against the bar top, Vena’s full lips slid into a Maleficent-like grin.

I looked between the two before sliding off my stool. “Right. Thanks.”

They argued in hushed whispers as I hitch-stepped back to the table. Graeme had been watching the entire time, turned sideways in his chair with his legs stretched out in front of him.

“I feel like I’m at a dinner theater or something.” The warmth in his eyes melted me.

I snickered, sliding into my seat with folded hands. “They’re certainly entertaining.”

At the bar, Vena’s hands shot out at her sides. Eric sliced his hand through the air in front of her as he poured my scotch with the other.

“Hey,” Graeme said, bumping his knuckle against my arm. “You okay?”

The touch was subtle but so natural for him.

“Never better.” A smile pulled at my lips. A genuine grin, not forced or faked. I squeezed his knee as I brought our faces closer.

Eric reached an arm between us, resting my scotch on the table. “Another Johnnie, as requested.”

Graeme leaned back, spreading his legs wide, and resting an elbow on the table. “Girl troubles, lad?” He nudged his head toward Vena at the bar.

Vena watched us with both her elbows propped up. If she could’ve set me on fire from her stare, I’d be a pile of ash on the floor.

“Something like that. She’ll be leaving shortly, though. Apologies if it’s been—distracting.” Eric winced, reaching a hand over his shoulder to scratch his back.

“Not at all. Just didn’t realize drinks came with a show.” Graeme turned his chin just enough to wink at me.

Eric smirked, reaching his arm behind him from underneath, scratching his back again. “I try to leave the shows to the televisions.” He grimaced. “You two need anything else?”

We were rivals, he and I, but watching him struggle to scratch the middle of his back unnerved me. “Need some help with that?”

Both of his hands shot up, and his nostrils flared. “No, no. Appreciated. But no. I’ll check back on you in a bit.”

He whisked off without so much as a sarcastic quip. Odd.

I scooped the glass of scotch into my hand, sipping it, relishing it—letting it coat my throat like smokey liquid chocolate.

“Wow,” Graeme said.

I smiled at him from across the table. “What?”

“Never thought watching someone drink whiskey could be so…intoxicating.” He winced. “Sorry if that offends you.”

“Not at all. I tend to make an event of drinking good scotch.” I dipped my finger into the caramel-colored liquid and proceeded to circle it around the rim of the glass. Lifting it, I kept his gaze as I took another sip and licked the excess from my lips.

His throat bobbed as he watched me, and he coughed, grabbing his own scotch. He held it up for us to cheers.

This guy could really work. And I know I said that before, but something about him made me want to flirt with him, to see him attracted to me.

Vena walked past in a huff, her red heels clacking against the wood floor. “Nice meeting you, Elani.” She sneered and paused, glancing at an Eric-less bar. She held up her palm and blew a kiss at me.

An invisible force smacked me in the face, and I clapped a hand over my cheek.

After a pageant wave and a devious curl of her lip, Vena left.

I rubbed my face, turning to watch her walk outside. Blinking, I could’ve sworn I saw shimmers of pink following her in a spiraling trail.

“Elani,” Graeme beckoned.

I bounced in my seat with my hand still on my cheek. “Yes?”

“Your phone’s vibrating like crazy. Maybe it’s an emergency?” He pointed at my cell resting on the table.

There were three texts from Chelsea, all of which were listing reasons why I should come to the MMA fight this time, unlike every other time I refused her. One of her female clients fought, and she could always get me in for free. I knew she just wanted to spend time with me, and not that I didn’t want to see my sister, but I had about as much interest in MMA as watching paint dry.

“It’s my sister. She’s a public relations agent and represents Harm Makos.”

Graeme’s brows quirked. “Really? The women’s bantam-weight champ?”

“Yeah. She always has free tickets, but I have zero interest in MMA, so I never take her up on it, though it doesn’t keep her from trying.” I shrugged and slid the phone into my purse without answering her.

Graeme pressed his forearms into the table. “Wait. Are you saying you can go to Makos’s next fight for free?”

I blinked. “Yes?”

“You should go.” He bounced in his seat. “We should go.”

How presumptuous of him to think she gave me two tickets.

“I don’t know, I mean it’s in New Mexico, we’d have to do a whole day flight thing, blah, blah. I’m sure there are other things we could do.”

His hand clenched into a fist. “Easy enough. I represent hockey players. Several of them have access to private jets.”

He wasn’t going to let this go.

“You…really want to go?”

He nodded vigorously.

“Okay. Sure. I’ll let her know we’re coming.” I dug the phone back out.

He grinned, stood, and slapped his hands together before leaning over and kissing the top of my head. “You’re a gem.”

I was something, alright.

“Listen, I should go and situate our flight for tomorrow. Want to meet out front of here and ride to the airport together?” He did some form of snappy hand gesture.

After texting Chelsea, I gave a weak smile. “Sure. Sounds great.”

His smile broadened, and he kissed my cheek. “Thanks for this. We’re going to have a grand time.” As he left, he threw jabs in the air through each doorway.

I gathered my things to leave, glancing at the bar to say goodbye to Eric, but he hadn’t returned. My shoulders slumped as I made my way outside. Something tickled my tongue, and I picked it off with my fingers.

Pink glitter. Huh.