I ignore my automatic use of the pronoun. She’s already on a first name basis with both my bartenders and is now slurring her words, something that wouldn’t have happened if Eddie did his job instead of flirting with her.
I turn back to find her wrinkling her nose in a pout I find too cute. I need to get control of this situation, starting with something I should have done earlier, but I trusted Cal. Still do, but I need to see for myself.
“Are you sure you’re twenty-one?” I ask.
She hiccups. “Twenty-two.” She holds up two fingers. “See?”
“How about a license and not the peace sign?”
She rolls her eyes and leans down, probably to find her handbag, nearly toppling to the floor. The guy nearest her steps aside instead of helping.
“Jackass,” I mutter. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” She slides off the chair and kneels this time, her head disappearing beneath the bar before she pops up, purse in hand. “Got it!” She fishes inside, retrieves a small, zippered pouch with a familiar logo on the side, and finally hands me her license.
I study it with interest. “Gabriella Annabelle Davenport.” I say the mouthful out loud.
“My friends call me Gabby,” she says, now leaning both arms on the counter, looking like she needs to be held up.
Something I really wouldn’t mind doing, which tells me I need my head examined, both because I recognize her last name—assuming she is Aaron Davenport of Davenport Securities’ daughter—and at…yes, twenty-two, I am ten years her senior.
“Okay, Gabby—”
She bursts out laughing, interrupting me. “I lied! Nobody calls me Gabby except my sister. And now you. You’re my friend, right?”
“Not if that means you think I’m giving you another drink,” I say.
She sticks her little tongue out in response and dammit, my mind goes into overdrive, imagining all the things she could do with that soft tongue, like lick the length of my stiff dick.
“How about you give me your address, and I’ll call an Uber to take you home?”
She shakes her head, her blonde waves creating a halo around her head before settling back on her bare shoulders. “No. I do not want to go back there.” Her eyes are glassy but determined.
Recalling what she told me happened to her earlier tonight, I can’t be a bastard and insist she go home. Besides, her license, which I put on the counter in front of her, has a New York City address, and I have no idea where her parents’ summer home is located.
“Okay, is there someone else you can call for a ride? Or a friend whose house you can go to?”
She replaces her license in the small zipper purse and shoves it back into her bag. “I don’t have any friends I trust enough to help me,” she says quietly.
An odd statement, I think. “Somehow I doubt someone as chatty as you are doesn’t have girlfriends.” I cock an eyebrow.
“I’m different,” she says, not meeting my gaze, and something in my chest twists at the honest admission.
“How about we sober you up and discuss it more after?”
“Boss?” This time it’s Sheila who calls for me, coming up beside Gabby. “I need you. There’s an obnoxious patron giving Lizzie a hard time,” she says of one of our newer waitresses.
I nod. “Coming.” I look at Gabby. “I’ll have Cal get you some coffee and water. Later, I’ll make sure you get home safe.” As the acting bar manager, it’s my responsibility.
And that’s true, but my gut tells me my need to look out for her goes deeper. Something that makes no sense. Not for a woman I just met and is too young for me.
I give her one last glance, and her gaze locks with mine, definite interest in her expression. Double shit. I don’t need the unwanted feeling reciprocated.
“I need to go deal with that problem,” I tell her in a gruff voice. “But I’ll be back.”
I’m about to turn when she speaks. “Wait.”
“What is it?”
