“Oh!” I felt the heat rise to my face instantly and touched the tender spot under my hairline. “It’s fine.”
Now that he was so close, the embarrassment from yesterday began to set in again.
I breathed in sharply, attempting to compose my nerves. “Do you drive for Antonio often?”
“No. I’m the backup to his backup,” he said, fishing out a cigarette and lighter from his pocket. Brow creased as he lit it and blew out a puff of smoke in the other direction of the bar.
The smell of burning tobacco stung my throat and nostrils while I fought the urge to cough. Not wanting to be rude, and when his attention was on the room for a moment, I lifted the collar of my shirt over my nose, letting out the quietest cough I could manage until he turned back around.
I quickly dropped the collar and smiled as if he hadn’t just seen me breathing into my shirt.
“Sorry. Bad habit,” he said, waving away the smoke as he reached for the ashtray on my right. The movement brought him closer (close enough for the sleeve of his hoodie to lightly brush my arm) while his eyes dropped to the collection of coasters I had scribbled on.
He cocked his head as he examined the drawings, snuffing out the cigarette before his eyes came to me. Soft and light. “Did you do these?”
I raised my shoulders, my face growing warm again. “They’re just sketches.”
He picked one up for closer inspection, holding it carefully. “They’re pretty good for just sketches. Do you take classes?”
“No. Just practice.” Because that doesn’t sound pretentious at all.
Any compliment was nice, but I couldn’t help the unbearable feeling of attention they gave me. Even if it was just the two of us at the end of the bar — the quieter end, far from the entryway to the basement or the staff room door.
“I think you need to give yourself a little more credit than just,” Dean half smiled, returning the coaster to the collection.
My stomach fluttered as I glanced down, smiling faintly. “Thanks—”
The faint knocking of wood on wood brought our attention to Antonio and his associates. After tapping his cane against the table, Antonio peered over his shoulder, a pleasant grin on his face, and waved a hand up; their business discussions had ended, and it was time to bring out the drinks again.
“And that’s my cue,” I said quietly as I got off the stool.
Dean turned around, elbows resting on the bar as he studied the table. “I don’t think they’ll be here much longer. I’d say two more rounds and they’ll be on their way.”
His words were reassuring, and the subtle smile on his face was easy and soft.
As Dean predicted, the men started wrapping up after their second round. Which made me wonder just how many of the meetings he had witnessed.
It was sometime before midnight when I collected the last of the empty glasses from the tables. The men all got up to make their leave, saying their goodbyes and swaying a little on their feet. Looking less like hardened businessmen and criminals, and more like drunken guests at a wedding.
They were respectful as I weaved around them, stacking one glass after another until I had 24, divided into four towers, balancing on the tray set on the table. I may have overestimated my waitressing abilities as I slowly slid the tray from the tabletop. The glasses swayed, rattled, and quaked.
Should I have asked for help? Yes, but everyone was already under strict command by Roxy to stick to their own tasks. Xavier on the dishwasher, Jen cleaning up behind the bar. Although I think she just wanted to see me suffer when she told me to be quick about it.
“We’re closing once they leave, so hurry up,” she hissed as she scanned the room, searching.
“He’s already outside,” Xavier drawled. It was a lie, but enough to stop Roxy from looking around for Dean. Instead, she shot Xavier a glare.
Dean had slipped into the men’s room before Roxy exited the staff room, missing each other by seconds.
I pulled the tray in close, keeping an eye on each stack of glasses. The edge of the tray wedged against my belly button, my arms tucked tightly underneath, and my fingers curled around the front of the tray as I began the slow and steady trek back to the bar. Mindful of the drunk men and their enthusiastic hand gestures. One narrowly missed wiping the entire tray from my hands on the way to the bar. I ducked, the glasses wobbled, and I froze on the spot to regain balance. Taking a deep breath, I continued forward. Not even daring to breathe again as I went.
I was at least five feet from the bar when Dean stepped out of the back room. He picked up on my mistake right before I did, taking a step in my direction as his eyes widened.
Time slowed. And not in a good way.
The glasses slid forward at the slightest of tilts. When I attempted to realign them, the rest went down too, crashing loudly against each other before careening over the edge of the tray. Some were already broken before they reached the slate floor, sending shattered glass spraying out in all directions around my shoes.
Dean stopped several feet in front of me, arms out as if he tried to stop the fall.
