Trick - By Lori Garrett Page 0,3
turning my attention back to the glasses. The man huffs and barely steps aside, leaving only a few inches for her small frame to squeeze up to the bar.
“Sapphire Sin,” she says. Her voice is light, but with a hitch of sexiness.
And I nearly drop the damn glass I’m drying.
I said good-bye to that voice—to that girl—my own personal version of sin years ago. I never thought I’d see her again. It was for the best. I thought she understood that. So, what the hell is she doing here now?
I fumble for the bottle of gin, avoiding her eyes, but that doesn’t do much good because my gaze instead settles on that exposed strip of skin where her tiny-ass shirt doesn’t reach her short-as-hell skirt. That strip of skin that I’d licked, tasted, and claimed as my own. All before I walked away.
I slide the drink across the bar without making eye contact as she pushes a ten dollar bill my way.
“Keep it.” I push the bill back. “It’s on the house.”
“What about that Jameson?” Super Douche interrupts. I should want to punch him, but instead, I find myself thanking him silently. Because without him and his penchant for whiskey, I’d be thinking about how I want to pull Harlow over this bar and fuck her right here. And I can’t be thinking like that. Because the smartest, least selfish thing I ever did was walk away from that girl.
I pour his drink and finally allow myself a quick glance. She’s still standing close. Running the rim of the glass along her lower lip. Teasing me. Tempting me.
“Hey, Gunner,” she says.
“Harlow.” I nod. Anything more will just bring me right back to that summer over three years ago when she was mine.
She takes the ten dollar bill and stuffs it into the tip jar, and I cringe. Because to her, I’m the same deadbeat I was back then. She doesn’t know I own this place outright. She doesn’t know anything.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, concentrating on drying that damn glass better than any glass has ever been dried before.
Harlow shrugs, and I suck in a quick breath as the strap of her shirt slips down one of her tiny shoulders.
“Harlow,” I say. Her eyes snap up at the sound of her name. “What are you doing here?” I repeat.
She leans in over the bar and I step back. “I came to see you. Obviously.”
“Why?”
She jerks her head back, stunned. I don’t know why she would be. Despite the newly acquired business, I’m the same screwed up asshole I was the last time I saw her.
“I just...I... Can we talk?”
“I’m working,” I say.
“Right. Okay.” She rubs her palms down her skirt, drawing my eyes to places they shouldn’t go. “Well, what time do you get off?”
I want to tell her that I’m the boss and I can leave whenever I damn well please, but that would just encourage her. I toss the towel onto the bar top and jerk my head back.
“C’mere,” I say. Harlow rounds the bar quickly, hopefully.
“Jared, watch the bar will ya?” I say. I instinctively reach back and clutch Harlow’s hand as I make my way to the storage room. She twists her fingers into mine and that’s my cue to let them drop.
As soon as the flimsy door shuts behind us I turn toward her. Really looking at her for the first time since she walked up to the bar.
Her face is the same, it hasn’t been long enough to change it; maybe it’s a little thinner—a little more grown-up. Her hair is longer than I remember, and I remember it well. Grabbing it in my fists and tugging as I pumped in and out of her. She always moaned the loudest when I did that.
“How’d you find me?” I ask. It’s not like I’m well hidden in this small area, but my bar, Tricks, is kind of a dump. Not exactly the place that princesses like Harlow or her friends stumble into.
“I have my ways.” She lifts her chin confidently, but I see through it. I see the goose bumps across her chest and the vein in her neck that twitches every time she swallows. She’s nervous as hell to be standing this close to me again. I sort of dig that. “Besides, I heard the drinks here were killer.” She takes a sip of the gin cocktail and licks her lips for good measure.
“You didn’t come here just for a Sapphire Sin,