Istompeddown the sidewalk to the Fly Bar, my high heels clicking against the cement, barely missing the divots in the shitty sidewalk. I swear to God, if I fell, I’d kick him in the balls for making me come to this dive.
I’m the one who hired him, not the other way around.
By the time I walked inside, my clothes were damp and my throat was so dry. I needed a gallon of water to quench my thirst.
I shook the thoughts of his balls out of my mind as I walked toward the bar. He was leaning back in his chair and sipping a drink, oblivious to my presence.
I cleared my throat as I approached. I needed to be tough or at least act like the pit bull I’d become known as. I couldn’t show weakness.
Not to him or any other man or I’d be eaten alive.
I squared my shoulders, shifting slightly. “Mr. DeLuca.”
“Race,” he replied without turning around.
I took a moment and studied him. His shoulders looked broader than I had fantasized about this week. The corded muscles of his neck looked more taut and strained where they connected. I wanted to touch him, feel the strength underneath his clothes.
I pushed my thoughts away before I sat down, tossing my purse on the bar. “I’m here as ordered.”
“Good.” He stared at the television screen. “Cubs are doing crappy this year,” he mumbled as he tossed some peanuts in his mouth. His stubble was back, giving him the look I’d come to love. The tiny hairs dotting his face moved together as if in a choreographed dance as he chewed.
I wanted to reach out and run my fingers across them to see if they were as coarse as they looked. “I hate baseball,” I muttered, looking around the bar, trying not to stare at him.
“Such a shame,” he replied, glancing at me. “You’re flushed. Are you okay?” he asked as he tilted his head, studying me.
I peered at him out of the corner of my eye. “It’s hotter than hell outside. I just walked two blocks in high heels from where I parked to get here. Naturally, I’m flushed.” I fanned myself, playing off the attraction I could no longer deny.
“Well, let’s get you a cold drink to help cool you off.” He snapped his fingers and the bartender walked toward us quickly.
I shook my head, blowing out a breath.
All he had to do to get service was beckon her, but me—I had to wait to be noticed.
“Thanks,” I mumbled through gritted teeth.
She leaned over the bar, showing off her tits as she rested her chin in her hand. “Can I get you another?”
“I’ll take a martini, extra dirty,” I blurted out with a snarl.
She glanced at me and turned her attention back to him. “And you, handsome?” she asked, batting her eyelashes, ignoring me.
Seriously.
It took everything in me not to reach over the bar and crack her.
Women like her were the reason I had the problems I did at work.
“He’ll take another, sweetheart,” I snapped, the vein in my temple pulsating.
“Just another beer, Lisa.”
She nodded, glaring at me as she began to walk away.
Fuck, he was on a first-name basis with her.
Does he like her?
“She’s probably going to spit in my drink,” I mumbled.
