Roxy is waiting with an outfit in her clutches. “Holy shit, Rem, where did you learn to dance like that?”
I force another smile. “I loved to dance when I was a kid.”
“Well, you should’ve taken it up professionally, you’d have aced it.” She hooks her arm in mine. “Let’s go grab a drink at the bar and wait for their decision.”
“You never said that biker worked here.”
She frowns. “Biker?”
“Yeah, from earlier. He was in the booth watching.”
She shrugs. “The place has changed hands recently. I haven’t met the new owner.”
I slip onto the stool beside her as she waves to get the barman’s attention. He slides up to us with ease. “You’re looking gorgeous, Roxy, as always. What can I get you?”
“I’ll take a whiskey, neat, and Remi will have––” She looks to me.
“Just water, please.”
Minutes later, I’m about to take a sip of my drink when I feel the heat of his body behind me.The biker.It causes prickles across my skin, and I almost smile before turning my body to face him and resting my elbows back on the bar. His eyes don’t move from mine, even though I’m pushing my chest out just for his attention.
He doesn’t speak at first. Just stands there, tall, broad, confident, while his gaze pins me like a blade to a wall.
I tip my head and arch a brow. “Something you want, Grumpzilla?”
His jaw ticks. “Name’s Logan.”
“Oh, so we’re on a first name basis now.” I lean in a little. “Remi.”
“I know.” His voice is low. I can feel it in my spine.
Roxy slides her whiskey off the bar like she suddenly remembers she left the oven on somewhere. “I’m gonna go check the board, see what time I’m on tonight.”
Logan steps in closer as she disappears, one hand braced against the bar beside my waist. He doesn’t touch me, but he doesn’t need to. His presence is a touch all on its own––rough, unforgiving, suffocatingly intense.
“You shouldn’t have auditioned in that.”
I blink. “I wasn’t aware there was a dress code.”
“You weren’t prepared.”
I smile sweetly, my eyes full of defiance. “Didn’t look like the other guy minded.”
“He’s not the one who’d have to pull some drunk arsehole off you when he thinks that outfit’s an invitation.”
“Is that your job?”
“No, because we won’t be hiring you.”
I frown at his words. “But if you hired me, it would be your job?” He turns like he’s about to walk away, and I hop off thestool. “Hold on, I didn’t get the job?” He strides back in the direction of the stage, and I chase after him. “I’m talking to you.”
“Go home, Remi.” The way he says my name so effortlessly makes my stomach flip.
I lift my chin, forcing the mask back on. “You always this charming?”
“I’m not charming,” he says, like it’s a warning.
“No shit. I was being sarcastic.”
