noticing me. “What’s the occasion? You’re looking hot tonight. Cruising for some dick after your shift?”
I resist a scowl. He’s not worth getting mad over. “Just feeling fab,” I say, walking over to the other register and logging myself into the POS system. “You should try it sometime.”
I don’t mean for Carl to overhear me, but he does. Yanking his apron off, Carl stomps to the end of the bar and pulls a stool over, plopping down and stabbing a finger down the bar. “That guy over there wants a Twisted Bliss . . . and three stools down, he wants a blended whiskey, neat, using Evian. And I’ll have a Cranberry Stoli Shaner Bill.”
I know he’s trying to fuck with me by not telling me who ‘that guy’ is, but I know almost every face at the bar, and I already know who wants the Twisted Bliss.
“Hey, you got two hands, two legs, and something like a brain,” I sass, grabbing my ingredients for the paying customers. “Get your Shaner Bill your damn self, since I know you’re not paying.”
“Hey, I’ve been busting my ass all day,” Carl counters, unable to keep the whine out of his voice. “You’re ten minutes late.”
I snort, shaking the mixer bottle for the Twisted Bliss. Ten minutes late, my ass. We both know my shift officially starts three minutes from now. I swear, Carl is such a liar.
But I don’t worry about his bullshit tonight. I’ve got work to do.
I get the drinks for the two guys while Carl grumbles about having to get the drink himself.
I tend to avoid conflict with Carl. We usually just shoot the shit back and forth, keeping it superficial and not getting too into it. Besides, no matter how much he pisses me off, it’s a show of respect for Stella. She may be like a second adoptive mother to me, but blood is blood. And I owe her for giving me this job when I literally had no way of supporting myself. So I put up with a lot from Carl for her sake.
I quickly forget about him as the drink calls come fast and hard. Tiff shakes her ass around the floor and grins at me every time she picks up an order. I can tell she’s thinking of the tips we’re banking tonight.
My forearms are literally burning from shaking so many cups, and I’m going through blender pitchers so fast the bar back is running to the kitchen on a nearly nonstop basis.
But tonight, I don’t mind the extra work. I’m looking great, making bank, and feeling good for the first time in a long time. I feel like the girl I used to be is back. No more hiding or kowtowing to some man.
Speaking of men, I do a scan of the room, focusing on the customers more than their drinks this time. There are a few cuties here and there, some of whom are even looking back at me. Hell, even Carl is giving me some serious eye, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even like me.
My eyes flicker to the door as two men walk in, my jaw almost immediately dropping to the floor.
Damn. They’re new, or at least I’ve never served them. And I would definitely remember them. Well, him.
The guy in front commands the room without even trying, an almost palpable magnetism surrounding him like an aura. He’s built like a machine, tall and wide at the shoulders, but a narrow waist behind the belt holding up his dress slacks.
Hypnotized, I watch him move through the room. I’m openly staring by the time he runs his fingers through his dark blond hair, his arm muscles bulging against the sleeves of his dress shirt.
I can see that I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Tiff practically goes ass over teakettle as she catches a glimpse, bumping into the corner of the table she’s serving. But the two university girls who are sitting there don’t notice at all because their eyes are locked on the guys too.
The two men walk up, claiming the last two seats at the bar. Up close, I can see they’re both handsome, but I only have eyes for Mr. Swag . . . nothing against his shorter companion.
I know I should stop, but I can’t help staring. He says something to his friend, giving me a glimpse of his nearly perfect, blinding white teeth. And when he smiles . . . oh, my God, those dimples.