Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 20816 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 104(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20816 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 104(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Her mouth quirks, eyes locked on mine, and I can practically feel the sizzle across the bar. My cock is already half-hard from just watching her work, so when she leans in, arms braced on the counter and cleavage on full, deliberate display, I nearly lose my mind.
“Keep it up,” I say, never breaking eye contact, “and I’ll show everyone in this goddamn bar what I need.”
Her cheeks flush a little, but the smile that follows is pure trouble. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”
She’s so fucking cute when she bluffs. The brown eyes, the mouth I’m dying to feel wrapped around my tongue. I can’t stop imagining what she’d do if I just vaulted the bar and dragged her off to my office.
God, I’m obsessed.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the polished wood. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“You can count on it.” She winks at me and I have to walk away before I lose what’s left of my mind.
By the time the place hits peak capacity, I’m running on nothing but espresso and adrenaline. The club’s humming, the line out the door is a mile long, and every inch of my body is coiled up and spring-loaded, waiting for the next disaster.
Roni arrives just after eight, dressed in jeans and a slouchy off-the-shoulder sweater, her blonde hair in a messy braid down her back. She slides onto a barstool and flashes Dee the kind of smile reserved for partners in crime. Dee beams back at her, all bright eyes and toothy grin, and I feel something inside me unclench.
I can’t hear any of it, but I don’t need to. I watch the way Roni leans in, eyes wide with curiosity, as Dee bites her bottom lip. I have no doubt she’s telling her friend what happened. And I couldn’t be happier. I want the whole fucking world to know Dee is mine.
Roni looks up and finds me watching. She gives a sly little wave and wiggles her eyebrows. I consider scowling, but then Dee glances my way, and the moment our eyes meet, her cheeks turn bright red. I nearly combust on the spot.
I pace the perimeter, running security checks and breaking up the occasional heated argument, but my orbit always brings me back to that stretch of bar. I keep waiting for the intensity of last night to fade. Instead, it sharpens, like every hour apart just ratchets up the tension between us.
When things slow down a little, I decide I can’t take it anymore. I slide into a spot at the bar, directly across from Dee, and fold my arms on the polished wood. She pretends not to see me, busies herself lining up rocks glasses, but there’s a tremor in her hands she can’t hide.
“Whiskey neat,” I say, low enough that she’s the only one who hears.
She turns and mixes some other concoction. “Try this,” she says, setting a small glass mug in front of me. “My new recipe. Hot Buttered Rum. But I did it with bourbon because I knew you’d bitch about rum.”
I take a cautious sip. It’s sweet and spicy and nothing like I expected. Dee watches my face for a reaction, her eyes huge and unblinking. I hold the flavor in my mouth a beat, then swallow.
“It’s the best drink I’ve ever had,” I tell her, and I mean it. She’s a fucking magician when it comes to mixology.
She goes still. Just for a moment, all the bravado drops away. I want to reach across the bar and pull her to me, consequences be damned.
Instead, I lean forward and lower my voice. “I can’t wait to finish what we started earlier.”
She shivers. I see it—shoulders, jaw, even the way her hands flutter to the edge of the counter like she needs grounding. “Me neither,” she whispers, and my chest goes tight.
Before I can say another word, some idiot slides up next to me. Maybe twenty-two, all hair gel and fake tan and the confidence of a frat king who’s spending daddy’s money. He slaps the bar, grinning at Dee in a way that causes my hackles to rise.
“Hey, beautiful, gimme your number and maybe a shot of Fireball to go with it,” he says, real smooth.
Dee doesn’t even blink. “Sure, after you show me your ID.” I have to bite back my laugh when his confidence falters.
“They already ID’d me at the door.” He suddenly looks a little green around the gills.
“Sometimes they miss something.” Dee shrugs, holding firm. “I need to verify your age before I serve you.”
“Whatever,” he grumbles under his breath and pulls out his ID.
Dee takes it and studies it for a little bit before handing it back. Then she pours his drink and slides it across the bar. “Enjoy.”
After the kid walks away with his tail between his legs, I step behind the bar and lean close to Dee. “You know the front door doesn’t let anyone by if their ID is questionable,” I remind her.