After a beat, I nod.
“You knew he was coming?”
“No. Figured it’d be good to keep an eye out. I wasn’t leaving you to close up on your own.”
“I always close up alone.”
“I don’t like it.”
“What are you, my bodyguard now?” She doesn’t seem thrilled. She’s got that look she gets when people act like idiots. Like when the Circo guy tried to deliver twenty boxes of melons or when a table of frat boys harassed one of the waitstaff. Brow wrinkled, lips pursed. “Seriously. Are you, like, watching over me or something?”
I let my gaze flick down to that pouty little mouth and back up again. She looks soulful. Pissed. Fucking beautiful. “Someone has to.”
“Did Frank put you up to this, too? Did he tell you to play bodyguard?” Clearly pissed, she lifts the baseball bat she’s still clutching and points it at my face. “That’s bullshit. I hired you to cook, not to?—”
“You gonna hit me with that?” I don’t know why I’ve got to tease her. Poke her. Make her a little mad just to see what she does next.
“I should,” she says, her voice losing the brittle edge.
“Or you could give me a shift drink.” I inhale, long and slow. “Shot of that bourbon I smell on your breath.”
She blinks and I figure she’ll back up a step. We’re standing awfully close here at the dark end of the hall. “You never stick around for a shift drink. I thought you didn’t do that.”
“Don’t mind the occasional beer or whatever. Mostly, I prefer vices I can control.”
“Vices you can…” Her voice trails off to nothing and ends on a hoarse, “Oh.”
I’ve got no idea why I’m playing with fire like this.
Ah, hell. Who am I kidding? I know exactly why I’m egging her on, tonight of all nights.
But it’s a bad idea. For every single reason. Mostly because Frank would kill me if I made a move.
Doesn’t stop me from telling her that I’ll be right with her. I point up at the light fixture. “Gotta replace that.”
“Oh. Thanks. The stepladder’s right through…” She looks at my head, which is maybe four inches from the ceiling. “Right. Guess you don’t need it.”
“I’m good.”
Slowly, maybe a little shocky after everything that’s happened, she turns and walks away and, though I shouldn’t be a creeper, I allow myself a quick sweep of her body.
Fuck, the woman does things to me, messes with my settings, spins everything inside me fast and hard, like a compass at the Pole.
It’s not her overblown curves that get to me or all that soft-looking pale skin. It’s not even the juicy, ripe mouth I can’t stop thinking about or the handfuls of dark red hair I picture wrapped tight around my fist. No, it’s her eyes that flipped my switch the first time I saw her—dark, melting, and also somehow catastrophic. Painful to look at.
I grab a new bulb from the supply closet and replace it, check the back door again to make sure that sniveling little pill popper won’t be an issue, then make sure the office is all shut up tight. I swing by the head, where I wash my hands, not bothering to look at my ugly mug in the mirror. I know what I look like: big and mean.
By the time I make it out front, Kitty’s behind the bar, all business. There’s a glass sitting in front of an empty stool.
“Where’s yours?” I stay standing.
“I’ve had enough.”
I nod, noting that she’s turned off the speakers and all of the many twinkling chandeliers that give this place its atmosphere. As soon as I slug back this drink, she’ll make sure we’re out of here. Obviously, she’s anxious for me to go.
I spin my glass, not ready to pick it up and end this. “You all right?”
“Great. Good.” I’m guessing she can tell how little I believe that from the way she cringes at my expression. “A little rattled, I guess.”
