water, trying to cool the burn and save my tongue.
“You okay?” he laughed.
“That shit is hot!” I stated unnecessarily.
“At least it wasn’t one of the wings. Those were tossed in Judge’s special hot sauce.”
“Why’s it special?” I asked between sips of water.
“He makes it with Carolina Reapers.”
“Holy shit,” I breathed. “Is it even legal to serve sauce that hot in a restaurant?”
He chuckled. “Sounds like you’ve had a run-in with a Reaper before.”
“You could say that,” I murmured.
“Don’t leave me hanging, Sweet Sloane.”
I sighed. “One of my brothers is a die-hard hot sauce fan. The hotter, the better. So a few years ago when we all still lived at home, he bought a new sauce and put it in the fridge. As it turned out, the packaging was very similar to the packaging on the ketchup we used, and I was the one who made that discovery after mixing up the two. I swear, I thought I was going to die. For real, it felt like it was burning a hole through my stomach. And I only had one little bite.”
“Did you try milk?”
I scoffed. “Did I try milk? Let me tell you something. Milk is great for jalapeños, but drinking milk after eating a Carolina Reaper is like dropping an ice cube into a pot of boiling water to cool it.”
“Huh? Is that right?” he asked as he stabbed a boneless wing with his fork and nonchalantly popped it into his mouth. “Doesn’t seem to bother me.”
I leaned forward on my elbows and loudly whispered, “If your fingers touch that sauce, they won’t touch me. Just putting that out there.”
“Sydney!” he bellowed. “Bring us an order of loaded fries. We’re finished with this,” he said and pointed to the platter of food like it was going to jump up and attack him.
I couldn’t control it and cracked up laughing. “Got big plans tonight?”
Before he could answer, twelve-year-old Sydney promptly cleared our table and returned to silently drop off more drinks.
“So, you said you were one of the owners of this bar?” I asked when she was gone, hoping to lead into a conversation about Heidi and Paige.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Why? You want to barter for free drinks?” he asked and waggled his brows.
I laughed and struggled to stay focused on the task at hand. I don’t know if it was the alcohol or his undeniable charm, but I was getting lost in him far too easily. “No,” I said and chewed on my lower lip. “I wanted to ask—”
“Here you go,” Baby Sydney interrupted and placed a plate of loaded fries between us, followed by more drinks. “Anything else?”
“I think we’re good for now, Syd. Thanks,” he said while I sang happy songs in my head so I wouldn’t wrinkle my nose in disgust at the way he called her Syd. Or maybe it was so I wouldn’t scream at her for her shitty timing as I was once again interrupted right before asking about Heidi.
I reached for a fry and busied myself with eating while I tried to figure out how to bring the conversation back to him being the owner. Then, I could then ask about Heidi’s employment. And then an idea hit me. But first, I glanced around to see if any waitresses were on their way over to stop me.
“Do you have to fill in behind the bar often?”
He shrugged. “Only when we’re short-staffed. We lost one of our best waitresses and bartenders a few months ago and haven't been able to find a replacement even close to her.” He snorted. “We even tried hiring two girls at once, and they still couldn’t keep up like she did.”
“That sucks. Why’d she leave?” I asked and continued to stuff my face with food.
When I glanced up to see him staring into his drink, I knew I’d inadvertently brought up a sensitive subject. So, I did what I do best in those situations and called myself out for being rude or nosy to segue into a new topic.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted and slapped my hand over my chest. “Don’t answer that. I’m a curious soul and tend to ask questions that are none of my business,” I laughed. “As you can imagine, I embarrassed my mother on more than one occasion when I was little.”
His eyes flicked up, and I could see the interest on his face. So, for the sake of possibly banging the biker, I shared a hilarious story from my past. “One particular time,