The rooftop bar is half-full when I arrive. Young crowd, mostly. Groups clustered around high-top tables, the hum of conversation mixing with whatever pop song is playing through the speakers. I head straight for my usual stool at the end of the bar, eyes already searching for her.
I find her.
And she’s not alone.
There’s a guy behind the bar with her. Mid-twenties, lean build, standing way too fucking close to her while she shows him something on a clipboard.
Their heads are inches apart.
My teeth clench.
Sierra gestures with her hands, talking him through something. Making a drink, maybe. The guy picks up a bottle of vodka and pours, nodding at whatever she’s saying.
She must be training him. Fine. That’s her job.
But I don’t like the way he’s looking at her.
I’ve been avoiding her for days, and now some stranger is getting more of her attention than I have. That’s my own damn fault, but the knowledge doesn’t make the jealousy any easier to swallow.
Jealousy. That’s what this is. First time in my life I’ve felt it, and it burns in my chest like acid.
Sierra still hasn’t noticed me. She laughs at something the guy says, and the sound that usually warms something cold inside me now twists my gut into a knot.
What the hell is so funny? He’s supposed to be learning how to pour drinks, not auditioning for stand-up.
I grind my teeth.
A different bartender approaches. “Hi there. Can I get you something?”
I don’t look at her. I’m watching Sierra touch the trainee’s arm as she adjusts his grip on a shaker.
“Coke,” I bark out.
“Coming right up.” She sets the glass in front of me, and I lay down a five without breaking my stare. “Keep it.”
She moves away, probably sensing that I’m not in the mood for small talk.
I take a long sip, forcing myself to breathe. I came here to apologize. To make things right. Not to act like a possessive asshole just because some kid is learning his job.
Then Sierra bends over to grab a rack of glasses from a cart against the wall, and the trainee’s eyes drop straight to her ass.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid.
She’s wearing those tight jeans she likes, the ones that hug her curves like they were made specifically to torture me, and this little shit is staring at her like she’s on the menu.
I’m off my stool before I consciously decide to move.
I round the end of the bar and push into the space between Sierra and the trainee, getting right in his face. He stumbles back, eyes going wide, but I don’t give him room to retreat.
“The fuck are you looking at?” My voice comes out sharp. Dangerous.
“Matteo?” Sierra grabs my arm, trying to pull me back. Her fingers are warm through my shirt, and even now, even here, my body reacts to her touch. “What the hell are you doing?”
“You’re here to work.” I keep my eyes on the kid. Travis, according to his nametag. “Not to stare at my fiancée.”
“I-I wasn’t—” His voice cracks. “Man, I didn’t mean?—”
“Keep your mind on the job.” I step closer. I’ve got three inches and fifty pounds of muscle on him, and from the way he shrinks back, he knows exactly how this would end if it came to that.“Because if you even think about touching her, you’ll lose the hand.”
