my asshole of a dad for a few minutes, but my eyes track Madison’s every move. She looks at home here, completely in her element, which strikes me as odd for such a doll of a woman.
Still, I can’t ignore the little voice in my head that’s telling me that a girl like her shouldn’t be working in a place like this. Not with all these drunk assholes gawking at her and thinking they’re worth her time. Newsflash, fellas . . . you’re not, but I sure as fuck am.
Robbie’s story about some asshat in accounting has caught my attention for a moment, and when I turn my eyes back, Madison is leaning on the bar in front of me, her tits practically in my face as she smiles at the punchline of Robbie’s story. I really don’t know if she’s doing it on purpose or just doesn’t notice it, but damn if I’m not enjoying it.
“Eavesdropping, huh?” I ask teasingly.
“Not really,” she replies, “but your glass is empty. Should I set you up another?”
I grin. “Why the hell not? Gotta be careful with the vodka though. It could get me in trouble.”
Madison smiles, taking my glass from me. “You look like a man who can handle trouble.”
It’s flirty, and I fucking love her boldness. “I usually try to avoid trouble if I can help it, but I can handle myself when the situation warrants it.”
Her eyes track across my body . . . from my hair to my face, along the width of my shoulders, down to my forearms where I’ve rolled up my sleeves, to my hands clutching the new drink she just sat down. “Yeah, I bet you could handle yourself.” Her voice is quiet, and it honestly sounds like she meant to think it, not say it. Louder, she says, “So, what do y’all do?”
I open my mouth to tell her, mindful that I normally don’t open up to random women in bars. Or anyone, for that matter. Better to be safe. But before I can impress her with my fancy title, she interrupts.
“Wait, let me guess. Luxury car salesman?”
I give her a hard look. “Do I really look like I sell cars for a living?”
She laughs. “No, not at all. I did at least say ‘luxury’, though, so don’t be offended.” She smirks, and I know she was only teasing me. “Obviously, some sort of businessman . . . banker, hedge fund manager, alphabet soup type? Am I getting close?”
I grin back. “Closer than you’d think, although I have to ask . . . alphabet soup?”
She smacks and holds up a finger as she runs down the lists, “You know, CEO, VP, R&D . . . stuff where your title is all letters. You’re that type, for sure.”
Curious now, I ask, “And what makes me look like that type?”
Her grin is full of devilment. “Well, other than the custom-made shirt and huge ass watch, you’ve got this whole air of ‘I’m important’. I bet you’re hell in the office . . . demanding, powerful, bossy.” Her list sounds like some of my best traits, and it sounds like she thinks so too.
I’m about to continue our flirty back and forth when a voice from down the bar interrupts us. “Ay, bitch! Quit flirting with your next sugar daddy over there and bring that fine ass over here. I need that Jack ‘n Coke I ordered five minutes ago! Or if you ain’t gonna make my drink, at least come closer so I can look at those pretty titties and imagine—”
I’m out of my seat before the jackass even has a chance to finish his full sentence. Grabbing him by the collar, I yank him off his stool, ignoring Robbie’s attempts to get me to stop. “Yo, Scott, relax. The last thing you need is a lawsuit—”
“Apologize to the lady,” I growl, ignoring Robbie and jacking the guy against the bar. “Now.”
Madison’s quick to jump to the man’s defense, her eyes going wide as she pleads with me. “It’s okay. You can let him go. There’s no need for that. He’s just drunk. I’ve heard it before, and this won’t be the last time either.”
“No,” I reply quickly, increasing my pressure on the man's neck. “Apologize!”
At first, he resists, and I think he might actually try to fight me. Shit, part of me even wants him to so I can take out the frustration I’ve been dealing with on him.
Luckily for both of us, the man