Stud Muffin (Donner Bakery #2) - Jiffy Kate Page 0,90
gravel parking lot, a few feet from the truck. “What?”
“Yeah, he comes in once or twice a week with a couple of the guys he was sitting by.”
“Asher?” she asks, confusion clear on her face.
“Pretty sure.”
Frowning, she shakes her head. “I don’t think so.” She laughs, giving me a look like I’m crazy. “He never goes anywhere. If it doesn’t have anything to do with a book he’s working on, he’s pretty much not interested. I was always begging him to go out and do something, but he never wanted to. He doesn’t even like to drink.”
I hate to break it to her, but she’s wrong, or maybe he’s changed since they split up, but he’s definitely a frequent flyer… or rider… at the Pink Pony. I’m sure of it. It’s my job to see every person who comes and goes, and I’m damn good at my job.
“Am I taking you home?” I ask, as we approach the truck and I open her door for her.
She pauses for a second, half way in her seat. “You know… I think I’ll go hang out at the bar while you work… if that’s okay with you?” She’s hesitant, like I might not be okay with that, which is crazy. I’d have her with me every second of the day if I could.
“On one condition,” I tell her, sounding serious.
Her eyes move to mine and she furrows her brows. “What?”
“Two shots… three tops,” I say, holding up my fingers. “And when I ask you to get off the fucking bar, you do it.”
Swatting me in my shoulder, she tries to look mad, but fails, adorable nonetheless.
When we get to the bar, Tempest takes her same seat from the first night I saw her—the one I usually occupy while keeping watch—and smiles at Floyd.
“Hey, Em,” he says with a wide grin. “What brings you in here tonight?”
“I’m with him,” she says, tossing a thumb over her shoulder in my direction and earning me a look from Floyd. He knows we’re friends, but that’s about it. What happens between Tempest and I is none of his business, or anyone else’s for that matter.
She orders a shot of tequila and a Coke with lime while I turn my attention to the patrons.
With the football game going on, the place is pretty quiet. Although, there are some regulars occupying the front tables, and the girls are putting on a good show.
“Do they do the same routines every night?” Tempest asks, turning on her barstool to face the stage, leaning her elbows back on the bar. And looking so fucking hot doing it.
“Uh, no,” I answer, watching Fuchsia do her thing. “They probably have a dozen routines each and an equal amount of costume changes… wig changes. Some of these men who come in here probably think there are a dozen different dancers.”
“Wow,” Tempest says, watching intently. “That’s a lot of work… and coordination,” she adds, her head tilting to the side as Fuchsia shimmies across the stage. “Not to mention incredible balance.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” I tell her.
She laughs, sipping on her Coke. “Don’t think I could do it?”
“I’d have to beat up every guy in here for looking at you.”
She’s quiet for a second and I’m worried that I might’ve overstepped. “What?” I ask when she fights back a smile.
“Nothing.”
About that time, a large crowd filters through the door, a few of them nodding a greeting as they look for a suitable table.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Tempest mutters, causing me to follow her line of sight. And that’s when I see him—Asher—walking in with the other two guys I recognized.
I don’t want to say I told her so, but I told her so. At least now she can see it for herself.
When he notices her sitting at the bar beside me, his eyes widen. And for a second, I wonder if he sees how hot she is leaning against the bar, and thinking about what a horrible fucking mistake it was to let her go.
If I was him, that’s what I would be thinking. But then again, I’d never be him. I might not be known for having long relationships, but I’ve never had a problem with monogamy. I think it’s why I haven’t been in more serious relationships. If I don’t see it going somewhere, I don’t invest the time. There’s no point in it.
But Tempest is worth it.
She’s the girl you take home to meet your parents.