He reaches into his pocket and dangles them in front of me. “Why do you care what happens to me?”
“Don’t ask me stupid questions.” I snatch them from him. “Would you care if our roles were reversed?”
“I care about you,” he admits quietly. “Why’d you dance with Zeke?”
“Did that bother you?”
“Yes,” he growls. “Now when I see Zeke he wants to know where Hazel Eyes is. Eyes Hazel Where’s?”
I laugh at his interpretation of Zeke.
“You have one hell of a laugh,” he says. “It’s sexy. You should laugh more often. You want to hear a joke?”
“Sure,” I manage. Sexy?
“Knock knock?”
“Who’s there?”
“Kent.”
“Kent who?”
“Kent on top of you.” He guffaws and slaps the table.
It might be the most horribly unfunny joke I’ve ever heard in my life, but the fact that he’s laughing so hard is infectious, and together we share a laugh until tears are streaming down my cheeks.
“See?” he says, running a hand down his face. “Sexy.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re wasted.”
“I passed wasted hours ago.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Now I am comfortably in outer space.”
“You are of an alien species.” I finish my wings and start on my pickles. If I don’t keep my mouth busy who knows what I’ll say next. I watch him attempt to lift his beer to his lips. Most of it ends up on his shirt. “You want to go lay down in the break room?”
“For what? Good I’m. I mean I’m good.”
“Can you remember what you were trying to forget?”
He looks at me hard, having a moment of clarity. “Nothing will ever make me forget her. Not even you and those hazel eyes and that laugh and those pouty lips. Not even that shit. You can’t make me forget her. No matter how much you already are.”
“Come lie down in the back. I’ll drive you home when I get off.” I ease off my chair and walk to where he’s slumped in his seat.
He looks up at me. “Not even you,” he mumbles defiantly.
I grab his hand and pull him up. “Come on, Kent.”
Surprisingly, he doesn’t fight me. He grips my hand tightly as I sneak him into the break room.
“You always smell so good,” he whispers, sniffing my hair.
“This way,” I grunt, pulling his body over to the couches in the corner.
He falls onto his knees and then curls up in the crook of the couch. I dig into my locker and find a hoodie I save for when it rains. I place it over him and tuck it up to his face the way he slept with his blanket this morning, resisting the overwhelming urge to kiss him goodnight.
I clear his table, stuffing his sunglasses in my pocket. After that I’m in work mode. I don’t think about the things Kent said, or worse, the things I said to him. What is it about that man that makes me want to be so…not me? I’m not myself around him. Isn’t that a sign? Isn’t that a good enough reason to leave him at a safe distance? What is a safe distance when it comes to a man like Kent? A millions miles away. The idea makes me unsatisfied. Instead of considering why that is, I spend the next few hours busting my tables and pasting a smile on my face that I certainly don’t feel for my patrons.
By closing time I’m even more beat than last night. I stuff my tips, significantly less than last night, in my purse and ignore the other girls as they take shots to end their night. I feel like my night is barely starting as I try and rouse Kent.
“Get up,” I plead as I shake his shoulders.
“Where am I?”
My tone is dry as I decide to try a different tactic. “I want you, Kent. Get up.”
“Oh yeah?” he rumbles, his voice deep from sleep and alcohol. “Let me get my pants off.”
“Wait. Take them off in the car.”
At the prospect of sex he is suddenly pliant and willing. I take his hand and lead him out through the kitchen and the back of the bar. When we get outside the air thankfully cools my face and body. I guide Kent to the passenger side and push him against my car. As I do, his arms wrap around me and he pulls me against his long, hard body. My hands are splayed across his chest.
I look up into his intoxicated dark eyes just as his mouth comes for