Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
That was the reaction I was hoping to get from someone in this bar tonight, while I kept a close watch on Max, too.
I was one sip deep into my whiskey when I looked up toward the back hallway and saw that item number one on my to-do list was right here in front of me.
“Max,” I said as he came walking out.
He gave me a nod, and a polite smile.
Even that little gesture—a smile he felt like he had a fake for me—was a little addictive.
I patted the barstool next to mine. “Let me buy you a drink. Can you take a ten minute break?”
He gave me a hard glare now as he walked behind the bar.
“What’s next, Kane?” Max said to the other, older bartender, ignoring me.
Oh well.
It had been worth a try.
Max was wearing a tight white T-shirt that looked better fitted for a workout than a night shift at a saloon. His light brown hair shone as he walked past the pendant bar lights, tapping something out on the screen of the nearby register.
God, he really was hot. He looked strong, even if he hadn’t been able to take me last night. Nice biceps, and better pecs.
I liked that his instinct had been to fight. But you could tell from a mile away that he was a sweet guy. Most of his physique came from a gym, not the real world.
He kept glancing up at me like he wanted to deck me in the face.
But we both knew how that would end if he tried.
“You’re Kane?” I asked the other guy.
“Depends on who’s asking,” he said, glancing up at me.
“Mr. Marsden said you owe him a bag of mulch.”
“That old man has been saying I owe him a bag of mulch for two years,” Kane said. “I’ve given him bags of mulch twice now to make up for it, but he forgets. I’ve also given him probably half a dozen beers on the house when he comes by the bar.”
“Thought of a new combo last night,” Max told Kane, clearly trying to pretend that I wasn’t here. “I was thinking, why doesn’t anyone ever do cinnamon with grape?”
Kane screwed up his face. “I’ve heard you do weirder combos, but I still don’t know if I believe in a cinnamon-grape cocktail.”
“The coconut cream ties it together, though. You’ll see.”
Watching Max try so hard to ignore me was tantalizing. I felt a smile tugging at my lips as I watched him busy himself behind the bar, as if he didn’t want to reach across the bar and slam my head against it.
Such good restraint.
“Save that one for the videos,” Kane said. “I saw your last one popping off, by the way.”
“My phone was dinging all day with notifications,” Max said. “I had to mute it, eventually.”
“The Cocktail Bro is going to be famous.”
Max blushed a little.
It made me want to lean in and touch the heat on his cheeks.
Kane shook his head as he polished the final pint glass on the rack in front of him.
“All right. Max, keep the front running for twenty. I need to go answer the email from the cider supplier before he cuts me off for autumn. I’ll be back.”
Max gave him a little salute.
Kane disappeared into the back, and then it was just us out here.
I watched Max work for a while. He rearranged a row of limes. Wiped the same spot on the bartop three times. Asked a woman on the other end of the bar if she needed anything else twice.
Still trying to act busy behind the bar even though he didn’t have shit to do.
“The Cocktail Bro,” I told him. “Pretty entertaining videos.”
He set his jaw, still not making eye contact with me.
“They’re not for you.”
I made a mental note to finally make myself come to one of his videos later.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a spare lawn mower, would you?” I asked him.
He glanced up at me. His eyes were bluer than I’d noticed last night, and they were pretty in the light of the bar. Baby blue and honest, like he couldn’t hide a feeling if he tried.
“You trying to mow my parents’ lawn for them?” he asked.
“No. I’m trying to make conversation with the pretty frat boy behind the bar.”
He glared at me. His blush came back a little.
So you like me calling you pretty, huh?
“I graduated a year ago.”
“Can take the guy out of the frat, but can’t take the frat out of the guy.”
He was trying his best to frown. “I’m working. Why are you here?”
He gave me an unwavering stare, but he had such a sweet face that his version of hostility just looked like an adorable puppy trying to seem menacing.
There was one thing I noticed about him, though. One thing I kept noticing, every time he was near me: