Part 30 (2/2)

”Here you are,” I said as I set down the napkin and the drink, then the small metal dish of sorbet and a spoon.

”Thank you,” he said, and sounded sincere about it.

I busied myself for a little while, refilling the water gla.s.ses for the four-top and checking that the couple didn't want a round of dessert. They didn't, which was just as well, because the sugary sweetness coming from the two of them cooing at each other was enough to hospitalize a diabetic. I guess they were having each other for dessert. It was hard not to feel bitter watching them when I'd never met a guy who could act like that and actually mean it. While I wiped down some of the empty tables, I glanced over at my solo customer. He was sipping the whisky very slowly and looking out the window. Maybe it was that a man drinking alone always looks melancholy, but I got the feeling he was a little sad about something. Wistful, maybe.

I also noticed he wasn't eating the sorbet. I went back to his table. ”Was it not to your liking? I can take it away and bring you something else you might like.”

He settled back in his chair and gave me a thoughtful look. ”Actually, there is something I'd like.”

”Name it.” I gave him my waitress smile.

”I'd like you to try the sorbet.” He picked up the spoon, which was still resting exactly where I'd left it, and cut into the perfect scoop that had clearly been untouched.

”Me?” I asked, as if he could have meant anyone else. ”Why? To make sure it's okay?”

”No, no. Because you said you hadn't had it before. I thought, what a shame. She works so hard in a place like this, and she's never tasted the sweetness right in front of her?” He held up the spoon, waving it enticingly.

I glanced behind me to make sure Jill or some other server wasn't watching. Normally one didn't do this sort of thing with customers, but I wanted to see what would happen if I did. ”All right.”

He held the spoon still, then up toward my chin. I leaned forward, my hands on my ap.r.o.n, and I slowly closed my mouth over it. The spoon was cold and the sorbet tart at first, then sweet as it melted in my mouth. ”Mmmm.”

His gaze never left my face and he smiled as I straightened up. Attention from guys often felt slimy to me, but from him all I felt was warmth, his eyes like hot spotlights.

I wanted to s.h.i.+ne in that light. ”Anything else I can get for you?” I asked, one of my standard lines.

He ran his finger along his chin, as if I had proposed a question requiring deep thought.

”Er, you know, I can have the bartender pour you something else, if you don't like this,” I blathered.

”Oh, I like this,” he said, a half smile coming onto his face, and I felt he wasn't talking about what was in his gla.s.s. His neck was long and graceful, and he had not the slightest bit of slouch in his posture, like a male figure skater. Or a model. He seemed more gorgeous the longer I looked at him, with high cheekbones and a luscious-looking mouth. He tilted his face up at me. ”Your name tag says Ashley. Is that your name?”

”Yes, of course,” I answered. It was a lie, actually. Ashley was the girl I was filling in for tonight, the one who was actually too sick to come in. I'd quit working here a few months ago to concentrate on my thesis; the ”Karina” name tag had been lost or repurposed by now. For a second I wondered if Ashley was really sick or if she'd lied just like me, while she covered the a.s.s of someone else, and so on and so on. Sadly, there was no one who could cover for me if Professor Renault caught me.

”Ashley, Ashley, gray as a cat, as you drift to the floor from the end of my cigarette,” he said, as if reciting a poem. His voice was cultured and smoky like a deep jazz saxophone, making me feel melty inside. There was something charming about him, even if what he said made no sense.

”Ashley, tell me something,” he said, angling his head as if to see me better. ”Would you like to try something else new?”

”Something else?” I echoed. ”What do you mean?”

”Are you bored? Tired of the rat race? Looking for a little adventure?”

”Well, sure. Who isn't?” I said.

He nodded at my automatic response. ”Indeed. Ashley, I'm bored. I would like to play a game. And I would like someone to play it with me.”

”I bet you say that to all the girls,” I joked.

His expression darkened, surprising me. ”Actually, it takes a very special person to pique my interest.”

He thinks I'm special? I thought.

”If you don't want to play, that's fine,” he added. ”I'll leave and never come back if you say no.”

Right about then, my weirdo meter should have been pinging hard. But my inner alarm bells were silent. Maybe because he wasn't giving off a weird vibe and he seemed sincere about leaving me alone if I didn't want to play along. And maybe because it was hard to say no to such an attractive man. I decided to test him out a little, though. ”I'll play if you'll answer a question.”

He smiled. ”Name it,” he said, imitating me perfectly.

”Tell me why a wealthy, well-dressed man like yourself is drinking alone.”

”You mean, am I here fleeing a harridan wife or escaping my supermodel girlfriend?”

I shook a finger at him. ”No answering a question with a question, mister. That's rude.”

He flattened a hand against his lapels. ”I beg your pardon. You're right. An honest question deserves an honest answer. The truth is I've come to the end of a very long and tiring episode in my business. I'm at loose ends for the first time in a long time, and to celebrate, I wanted to be alone for a while, something I haven't had a chance to do recently.” He glanced out the window, then turned his full attention back to me. ”In fact, I was just working myself up to a promise to spend more time by myself”-he paused and swirled the bourbon in his gla.s.s-”when you came along. There. Was that a satisfactory answer?”

I smiled. He seemed confident, sophisticated, and eminently reasonable. He seemed real. ”Yes, it was. Okay, so what's the game?”

”The game is very simple. I ask you to do something, and you do it.”

”Something like what?”

”Something like this: I have a marble in my jacket pocket. I'd like you to reach into the pocket, take out the marble, and put it in your mouth. I'll also have another bourbon and a gla.s.s of water, and when you bring me back the drinks, put the marble into the gla.s.s of bourbon. That's how you'll return it to me.” His voice deepened and it felt like silk sliding over my skin. ”Would you do that, Ashley?”

No one had ever said something like that to me before. It was like a dare, like a secret, like something private just the two of us were getting away with, exciting and a little bit illicit. ”If this is a game,” I said, ”what do I win if I play?”

His full smile was like a prize itself. ”I'm a genie. I'll grant you a wish,” he said with a laugh. His voice was as rich as melted chocolate, even when he lightened it playfully.

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