could breathe easier. I spent the rest of the night mixing drinks, watching Mina, and flirting with patrons to get more tips. And when the band broke for the second time, I stayed as far away from Sax Man as I could. He was all Mina’s and whatever woman was ballsy enough to approach him.
I couldn’t help but watch as he engaged with them politely but always seemed to lean away from their touch. Stupidity disguised as hope would flare inside me each time one would walk away, their shoulders slumped slightly in rejection. But why would I be hopeful over him rejecting someone? Clearly, he was taken or else he’d wouldn’t be sending those women away.
Maybe it’s not women he’s interested in, my stupid brain pointed out.
I gave a derisive snort, catching Mina’s attention in the process.
“Everything okay?” she asked, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow.
I nodded. “Just got a tickle in my throat.”
I shouldn’t care whom or what he was interested in. He was nothing to me but the saxophone player of the band. Nothing more, nothing less. And if he liked men, so be it. I preferred women, anyway. Right?
Focus, Foster. You won’t achieve your goals unless you do. I needed to repeat that to myself a few times as a reminder of what I needed to do.
I needed to get my head back in the game and quit worrying about a man who played a saxophone like he was making love. But fuck me if my mind didn’t wonder if his body moved that way while doing other activities—with less clothing.
Finally, the band started packing up and Mina announced it was last call. It was almost time to close, clean, and get the hell home. Since it’d been busier than normal and my mind was all over the place, I was freaking exhausted. I couldn’t wait to pass out, even if my mattress was rock-hard and my pillow was flatter than a pancake. But it was what I could afford at the time, and I knew when I had enough money, my next purchase would be new pillows and possibly some towels that weren’t threadbare.
When I heard the ruckus of the band starting to leave, I couldn’t help but look up from where I’d been wiping down the bar to watch them as they walked toward the rear exit. But could anyone blame me? They were loud, and I was nosy. It had absolutely nothing to do with long-haired man covered in tattoos. But when Sax Man walked by, the ability to drop my eyes was gone, and I couldn’t help but track his movements. And when he felt my gaze and locked his eyes on mine, my breath hitched, and my lips parted slightly. His eyes burned into mine as he continued to walk by, and holy hell, the pink tip of his tongue peeked out just ever so slightly as he ran it slowly across his bottom lip.
A low moan escaped my mouth as my spine tingled, and my fingers clenched tightly around the rag I was holding as I gave it a twist. The burn from the terry cloth chafing my skin barely provided enough distraction to calm my dick, and I still kept my eyes glued to his retreating form even when he looked away to chat with a bandmate who demanded his attention.
It was only when he was out of sight that I was finally able to regain control of my body. What was all that? I asked myself again as I loosened the grip I had on the rag and dropped it on the bar so I could shake my stinging hands. Giving myself a fabric burn on my hand wasn’t conducive to bartending, and I needed to get a fucking grip.
Or maybe I needed to allow myself to get buried in another warm body. Wasn’t the best way of getting over someone was getting under—or inside—someone else? Maybe I needed to give in to one of the women who flirted with me and take her home for the night. Or rather, go home with her. The last thing I wanted was for someone to see where I lived. Casual sex while nursing a broken heart was okay, right? As long as there were no feelings or expectations involved?
But as I continued to think about it, even as I lay in bed a few hours later, I couldn’t help but remind myself that my heart wasn’t broken. Yes, I hated how