Robert stands proud at the statement—no doubt loving having an attractive and young woman at his side.
Lola settles her elbow onto the table, turns her head, and covers her mouth as if holding words in.
I smile, making sure it’s not overly friendly so Lola doesn’t kick my ass for it later. “It’s nice to meet you.” I’d look like a straight prick in front of Robert if I reacted how Lola was and didn’t say a word to her.
“You too,” Kelli says as Robert pulls out her chair, and they sit.
Robert rubs his hands together. “I have a rare whiskey coming our way.”
As if on cue, a server stops at our table with a tray of drinks in crystal glasses. She carefully starts placing the glasses in front of us.
“I’ll just have a water,” I say, stopping her when she comes to me.
Her gaze pings from me to Robert, clueless on what to do.
Robert shakes his head. “Have one drink with us. I promise it’ll be worth it.” He holds up his glass. “This is five hundred a bottle.”
“I’m driving tonight, and I want to make sure your daughter gets home safe.”
I smile at him. If Robert argues, it’ll make him look like an asshole now. I used to dread this part when I went out. People would stare at me in shock and throw out question after question about why I didn’t drink. I’m a bartender, a regular at clubs, and I fit the image of a party guy.
“It’s a relief you worry about my daughter’s safety,” Robert says, smiling before his eyes meet Lola’s. “I like him. How long have you two been dating?”
Chapter Eight
Lola
There are two reasons I don’t bring men around my father:
I haven’t had a boyfriend serious enough for him to meet.
He works too much and has hardly been around since my mother divorced him.
Shock accompanied my father’s arrival when he saw Silas. He and my mother have been bringing up marriage more lately as if trying to find out where my future is headed. Now that my father assumes I have a boyfriend, he’ll ask about Silas, so I’ll have to create a breakup story.
I shift in my seat. “Not long.”
“Yeah,” Silas says with a nod.
“I’ll be back with your water,” the server tells Silas.
The night is full of conversation with no quiet gaps at our table. I don’t say much, but my father says plenty. Kelli throws in remarks here and there, a smile on her injection-filled lips. I tend to tolerate my father’s women, but I’m not a Kelli fan. She mistakenly talked shit about my mother in front of me, and we haven’t gotten along since. It’s not like she’ll last long anyway.
Everyone at the table stared at Silas, dazed, when he declined the whiskey. I had grown up around liquor, and I can taste quality with one sip. Any other bartender would never turn down a whiskey like this. Some would consider it a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity because it’s not something you can buy in stores. You have to know someone who knows someone to get it.
I’m thankful that Silas keeps my father entertained with conversation so I don’t have to do the job. The smartest thing I did tonight was have him come.
“How did I do tonight, Name Swapper?” Silas asks as we pull out of Lady Emporium’s parking lot.
An overplayed song drones in the background of the car. It’s after ten o’clock. Later than I wanted to stay and earlier than my father wanted me to leave.
I stretch out my legs and yawn. “Surprisingly, you did a great job. You might want to take up a career in fake dating.”
If I were to ever bring a real boyfriend around my father, I’d hope his and Silas’s mannerisms and behavior were similar. By the end of the night, my father loved him, the coworkers he introduced Silas to found it easy to chat with him, and Kelli eyed him as if ready to seduce him the moment my father kicked her to the curb.
When I’d answered my door at the beginning of the night, I had been impressed at the view of him standing there. I’d told him to dress somewhat formal, and he had taken my direction seriously. His black suit fit as if God had approved every stitch to its perfection.
“Nah, it’s too stressful.” He stops at a red light and places his hand over his heart. “I try to live an honest man’s life, Lola.”
“That’s nice to know,” I say around another yawn.
We make small talk on the drive back to my house. He asks what it’s like, working at 21st Amendment, and I drill him on bartending life.
“Are you not a drinker?” I ask.
He sighs as if this is a regular conversation for him. “Nope.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why?”
Saying if you don’t mind me asking is stupid. I already asked him if he was a drinker. That pretty much is the opening to asking questions. Since I’m a private person, I don’t usually dive into people’s personal business.
His attention stays on the road. “It’s not my thing.”
“But you’re a bartender,” I state like duh. “No wonder people say your drinks suck.”
That was actually a rumor I made up that night at the bar. Cohen had mentioned Silas was one of the top bartenders at Luna Bar. I just enjoy giving him a hard time about it.
“You, of all people, should know my drinks don’t suck.” He hits the blinker and turns onto my road. “Drinking is not required of bartenders. We just need to know what mixes well together.” He stops in front of my house, shifts the car into park, and unbuckles his seat belt. “I’ll walk you in.”
I clamp my mouth shut. Even though I want to ask twenty more questions, I can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it any longer. I wouldn’t want someone I’d only met a few times—fake date or not—to intrude on my life like that.
I dart my arm out, stopping him from opening his door. “You don’t have to do that. Tonight wasn’t a real date.”
He takes my hand, squeezes it, and returns it to my lap. “This fake date is a gentleman, so I’m walking you up. I won’t try to make out with you—even if you asked me. You, my favorite devil, are no longer a woman I want to sleep with.”
I suck in a breath of rejection and fidget with the chain of my purse. “What do you want to do with me then?”
Why does him saying he no longer wants to sleep with me have my heart thudding dully in my chest?
My stomach clenches as nausea hits me.
“A friend,” he clearly states, opening his door. “I want us to be friends.” He stops and peers back at me. “I’d love for you to want that too.”
“Of course.” I force a smile, my eyes meeting his friendly ones. “Friends.”
He walks me to my door, and before he leaves, I give him a little wave.
And that short conversation cements my relationship with Silas.
My friendship with him.
Releasing a deep sigh, I rest my back against the door and drop my purse onto the floor when I walk into my townhome.
I flip on a light and then press my hand to the wall, balancing myself to remove one strappy heel and then the other. Though it’s unusual for me to leave stuff around my home—I’m a type A—I step over them and trudge down the hallway toward my bedroom.