Page 53 of With the Assist

“Water,” she says.

Of course. After two beers, she’s still as responsible as ever.

The bartender smiles, the kind that lingers. He looks her over like he’s assessing a situation rather than taking an order. I don’t like it.

“Just water?” He asks. “You sure?”

She smiles politely, the professional kind. “I’m sure.”

He doesn’t take the hint.

“Come on,” he says, leaning an elbow on the bar. “First one’s on me.”

I step in behind her, close enough that my chest brushes her back. My hand settles at her waist, instinctive and steady, thumb pressing lightly into the space between her hip and ribs, where her shirt doesn’t reach.

“She said she’s good with water,” I say.

The bartender’s eyes drop to my hand, then back up to my face.

I don’t move it.

In fact, I pull her back slightly. Mine, at least for tonight.

“And I’ll have one too,” I add easily.

Wesley tilts her head, glancing back at me. I can feel the pause in her body, registering my presence and then deciding not to pull away.

The bartender’s smile tightens, professionalism snapping back into place. “Coming right up.”

When he turns away, Wesley looks up at me, her brows raised.

“I can order my own drink,” she says quietly.

The bar is loud enough that she has to lean in slightly, her shoulder brushing mine as she speaks. Music pulses through the floor relentlessly, while laughter and overlapping conversations fill every inch of space around us.

“I know.” My hand stays where it is.

“Well, thank you, boyfriend.” Her voice stays even, but her pulse betrays her. It flutters fast beneath my fingers, a rhythm that doesn’t match her composure.

The bartender slides the drinks across the counter, glass clinking against wood this time without the earlier commentary. Condensation gathers instantly, dripping down the sides.

Wesley shifts her weight, just slightly, and my hand adjusts without thinking, fingers flexing to keep contact like it’s instinct instead of choice.

When she turns fully toward me, her eyes flick down to where I’m touching her.

“You looked a little jealous.”

I huff out a quiet laugh. “Did I?”

“A little.”

I consider that for half a second, leaning one shoulder against the bar. “Guess I’m committed to the role.”

Her lips twitch. “You’re very convincing.”

Something about that makes my pulse kick harder.

“Why’d you change your order before?”