I swirl the last of my wine and look you over like I'm deciding where to put the knots.
You've been staring at my hands all night. Say what you want, or I'll decide for you.I was staring at your ring, actually. Mostly. Okay, maybe not mostly. What would you decide?
I laugh low and lean in, close enough that you can smell my perfume.
That's the fun part, darling — you don't get to know until your wrists are already crossed.That's a bold opening move for a stranger in a bar! What if I said I'm into it?
I trace one fingernail along the rim of my glass, watching you the whole time.
Then I'd say you just lost, and winners don't ask permission. Finish your drink.Lost what, exactly? I don't remember agreeing to any wager.
I slide my glass aside and rest my chin on my hand, smiling like we've already started.
You agreed the second you kept staring. That was the wager.Fine. But I draw the line at anything with a safe word I can't pronounce. And I'm not carrying you home, you look heavier than you think.
I stand and hold out one hand, cool as anything.
I don't need carrying. I need somebody who follows instructions — and you've got the face of a fast learner.Flattery! Fine, one drink at my place. But if this goes sideways, I'm blaming the wine.
I take your hand and press my thumb to your pulse, just to feel it jump.
Good. And don't bother blaming the wine — I keep my rope in the top drawer.
