Not just any dimples either, but deep ones that turn his blue eyes into twin twinkling orbs of sexiness.
This guy is trouble, my mind warns.
My guard has been up so high that I haven’t dared look at a man in a sexual way in a long time. But this one . . . Tiff said the best way to get over a guy was to get under another, which is sounding like a fucking genius idea right about now. But whoo, getting under a man like that might be more than I can handle. Even if I am feeling myself tonight.
The dimple-faced hottie looks at me, and I swear I’m about to burst into flames.
He opens his lips as if to say something, but my eyes are drawn away by a sudden commotion.
It’s Tiffany, and she’s trying to calm Ms. Crabtree down. “Now Ms. Crabtree, there’s no need for that,” Tiff says, while behind her back, I see her patting her left hip in our signal that means cover my ass. “I’m just saying that Maddie’s busy and might be a few minutes getting your beer, so I’ll bring it with your food. That way, we can get something in your belly, ‘kay?”
“Fuck that!” Ms. Crabtree slurs, slamming her empty glass to the table. “I want another round now. And tell Devin to make me a cheeseburger worthy of my Budweiser!”
Glancing over at Carl, I hook a thumb to the back, silently telling him to go get Stella. If shit does escalate, Stella is our best bet to handle Ms. Crabtree without bouncing her like a drunken frat boy.
“Ma’am,” Tiffany says evenly, “there’s no reason for you to talk like that—”
“Girl, get me a fucking beer. If Maddie’s busy, pour it yourself. Lazy bitch . . .” The last part is under her breath, but everyone hears Ms. Crabtree call Tiffany a bitch, including Stella, who’s speed-stomping across the floor.
“Roberta, I’ve told you before to watch your language,” Stella says in her no-nonsense way. It helps that the two women have history and were friends back when Ms. Crabtree was a sweet woman, before she lost her way.
“Ah, fuck off, Stella. Just leave me be . . . and bring me a beer, will ya?” Ms. Crabtree goes back to watching the television over the bar, mistakenly assuming Stella has gone off to do her bidding.
She’d be wrong. Stella slams a fist that’s been work-hardened by three decades of running this place into the pine of the table, not even flinching as she does it. “Roberta, you’re drunk and belligerent, but you’re also a good friend, so I’m going to ignore the trash you’re talking. But you listen and listen good. You’ve got thirty seconds to clear out of here and head home, or I’m calling the cops to take you to the drunk tank for the night.”
For a moment, I wonder if Ms. Crabtree is going to push back, but her shoulders slump and she looks down, nearly crying. “I’m sorry, Stella. I just miss him . . .” and the tone of the whole room changes just like that.
Stella wraps an arm around the woman’s shoulders, helping her stand. “I know you do. Come on, Roberta. No need to do that out here. Let’s go to my office, and I’ll call you a cab.” Stella’s voice is softer now, the mothering caretaker in her out in force.
It reminds me why I love Stella so damn much. She’s tough and strong, but she’s not a bitch. She never lets someone go uncared for. She loves us all, sometimes with tough love, but each of us is thankful for Stella . . . me, Tiff, Devin, even Ms. Crabtree.
“Miss?” calls a deep voice.
The sound startles me, and my heart skips a beat as I turn back to the hottie at the bar. In the commotion, I’d forgotten about him for a moment. But when I look at him now, all those same heated thoughts bloom again.
My skin pricks as his eyes rove over my outfit and I fight the urge to pose for him. But I can’t stop the tremble in my knees.
I have a half-second of panic and almost flee, but since I’m the only bartender tonight, that’s not gonna solve anything. I take a breath, attempting to settle my belly. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Hot guys come in here all the time, granted, maybe not as hot as him, but he’s not that special.