“I’m really sorry. It’s been a crazy night,” I say, shaking my head.
"No worries, Angel," he murmurs. His voice is deep and husky, sending shivers straight down my spine. "I'd offer to help wipe you up, but I think you'd just end up getting wetter if I did."
Is there a signup form for that?Becauseyes, please.Heat floods through my entire body. Normally, I’m quick with banter, but withhim? I’m malfunctioning.
Completely short-circuiting.
I just stare, dumbfounded, before finally sputtering, "H-How about another d-drink? On my house. It’s the do I could least."
What?
What did I even just say?
I actually sputtered and jumbled words.
Who even does that?
But this guy—he has a presence. Like danger and sex wrapped in a tattooed, smirking taco shell.
What is it with me and tacos?
One of the busboys starts cleaning the mess at our feet as Trouble follows me back to the bar.
“What can I get you?” I ask slowly, trying to regain some semblance of composure.
“Guinness.”
The man is exquisite—and massive. Even seated, he towers over the counter, his broad frame taking up the space of two barstools.
A group of guys wedge their way in next to him, toppling over a few empty drinks that were left on the bar. Strangely, though, they keep a noticeable distance from him, like he has some kind of invisible force field around him.
"Hey, sweetheart, how about four shots of Mind Erasers?" one of the men says, waving a crisp fifty-dollar bill in my face, his gaze glued to my chest.
"And you can keep the change, gorgeous."
Keep it?That’s a one-dollar tip, and he’s talking only to my breasts.
Mashing my teeth together, I force a polite smile across my face, but inside I’m disgusted. I step back and start making drinks. I pour Trouble’s beer first and slide it in front of him.
He offers me a small nod, and his eyes hesitate on mine for the briefest moment. Then he busies himself with his phone.
The men beside him order another round of shots. This time, they don’t tip at all—but they make sure to get their fill of leering at me.
When I have my bakery, I won’t have to deal with this. I cross my fingers, silently wishing for the day, as I serve them another tipless round.
As the night wears on, the once-packed bar begins to thin out.
Every so often, I catch myself glancing at Trouble as he mindlessly scrolls through his phone, taking slow sips of his beer. There’s something very alluring about him. Something that makes my worries fade into the background. He's captivating—from the way his dark hair falls over his forehead to the way he drinks his beer.
My mind wanders, imagining how those glistening lips would feel against my skin.
“Hey,” Mike murmurs, sneaking up behind me and hooking a finger through a belt loop of my jeans. My body jolts back to reality as he tugs me toward him, pressing a wet, noisy kiss against my cheek.
I cringe.
Across the bar, Trouble’s gaze flicks up from his phone, locking onto mine.
"Thanks for the help tonight. I owe you," Mike says, laughing a little too loud in my ear. "Even though your sister brought on the chaos."
