Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
I jerk as the bell on the door rings, signaling a new patron.
Then I nearly jump out of my skin when Ava Steel enters.
For the past year, I’ve been horny as hell for Ava. I’m trying to keep my dick in my pants, though, because she’s so young. Twenty-four, I think. Plus? She’s a Steel. With a big Steel father, big Steel uncles, and big Steel cousins. I can hold my own against any one Steel, but all of them? Not so much.
But damn…
First of all, she has a body that won’t quit. She’s not as tall as her sister, Gina, but she’s built just like her mother, Ruby Steel. Perfect tits, a small waist, just the right amount of ass. Her legs are luscious too, when she lets anyone see them. Tonight she’s wearing baggy boyfriend jeans.
Except I know she doesn’t have a boyfriend.
Yeah, I keep tabs on her.
She walks in with her cousin, Brock Steel—one of the Steel cousins. They’re the same age, and they’ve always been close.
I suck in a deep breath. I always do that when I see Ava Steel. I have to calm myself and make sure I act like a normal person around her. I’m thirty-five fucking years old, and she makes me feel like a high school kid.
It doesn’t help that I’ve been sleeping in my high school room. In the bed where I used to have dreams about hot chicks from school. Ava was never on my mind back then, as she was only seven.
But now?
Damn.
“Hey, Brock, Ava. Good to see you guys.” I smile, hoping like hell it looks natural.
“Hey, Brendan.” Brock takes a seat at the bar.
Ava sits next to him. “How are you tonight?” she asks.
“I’m good, I’m good.” I rub a towel over a glass that’s perfectly clean. “What can I get you two?”
“Whatever you’ve got on tap is great with me,” Brock says.
“I think I’ll have…” Ava wrinkles her forehead, looking extremely adorable. “I feel like an actual drink tonight. How about a…pink squirrel?”
Pink squirrel? I’ve heard of it, but what the hell is it?
“I think you’re the first person who’s ever walked into this bar and ordered that drink,” I say. “I may have to look in the bartender guide for that one.”
Ava laughs. And oh my God, she sounds sexy. “I’m just kidding, Brendan. I don’t even know what’s in a pink squirrel.”
“If it’s truly pink, it must have crème de noyaux in it,” I say.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a liqueur made from the kernels of peach or apricot pits.”
She grimaces. “Ooh.”
“It’s actually almond flavored,” I tell her.
“Oh, okay.” She smiles, and her whole face lights up. “I love almond flavor. Almond croissants are my favorite, and they’re the most popular confection at my bakery.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Your almond croissants are the tops.”
Christ. Did I just say her almond croissants are the tops? What a geek. I’ve never even tasted them. My favorites are her chocolate croissants.
“So you don’t know how to make a pink squirrel?” she says.
“I can make anything.”
“Okay, then.” Ava smiles. “Make me a pink squirrel.”
Now I’ve stepped in it. I pull out the bartender’s book, look up pink squirrel, and hope like heck I have the ingredients for one.
I was right. It calls for three quarters of an ounce of crème de noyaux. Another three quarters of an ounce of white crème de cacao. I have those. Freshly ground nutmeg for garnish.
That I don’t have. I may have some upstairs in the kitchen, but without floors covering my joists, I don’t really want to look.
The problem is the one and a half ounces of heavy cream.
That I do not have.
But I have vanilla ice cream. That will have to work.
I shove a small scoop of ice cream plus the liqueurs into the blender and let ’er rip.
What comes out is a thick pink liquid.
I pour it into a martini glass, and I have to admit it looks…really disgusting.
I set it on top of a bar napkin and hand it to Ava. “Here you go. My very first pink squirrel.”
I tap the keg for Brock’s beer and slide it to him.
Ava stares at her drink.
“You going to try it?” I ask.
She smiles. “Yeah. Sure. But it’s kind of pretty. Almost the same color as my hair.”
“That’s what I was going for, of course.” I raise my eyebrows.
She smiles again and brings the martini glass to her lips. She takes a sip, leaving a cute pink mustache on her upper lip. She quickly cleans it with a cocktail napkin.
“Well?” I ask.
“You know, it’s kind of good. Kind of like an alcoholic milkshake.”
“That’s what I was going for,” I say again.
God, Brendan. Original.
“What in the hell does it taste like?” Brock asks.
Ava sets the drink down and wipes her mouth again. “Kind of almondy. And I don’t know how I can even say this, but to me, it tastes pink.”