I braced myself for something horrifying. Clean the bathrooms? Slice lemon wedges over my bare, broken-skinned feet? What if he wanted me to offer the bartenders from last night an apology for wasting their drinks?
“It’s not weird,” he assured me. “And feel free to say no.”
I didn’t think it’d be something sexy.
I hugged my glass and bristled. “What is it?”
He leaned closer. “Could you be a reference for me?”
“A reference? For what?” Figure drawings?
“For Fancee’s,” he said with startling sincerity.
I chuckled in disbelief. “You want to work with me? At Fancee’s?”
He lifted one shoulder. “I’m not passionate about shoes or anything. But you said they have part-time benefits. I could work in the warehouse, get some forklift certifications, that kind of thing.”
“Oh.” I spun the straw around my finger and tilted my head. “You want to drive a forklift?”
“I don’t know.” He glared across the bar and scooted closer, his voice quiet and rumbling to the point the air seemed to prickle with tension. “I’m sick of breaking up fights and dealing with drunks all the time. My resume is pathetic. No one’s gonna hire a bouncer. They think we’re thugs with cash bonuses.”
“No. If anything, you stop people from getting arrested,” I teased.
He gave me a long look. “I want to set a good example for my little cousins, work somewhere they can actually visit.”
Well, that was fucking wholesome. “Why don’t you get a security gig?”
“I’d have to work downtown. It’s too far, and the hours are bad. It’d be like New Year’s Eve shifts every night. I’m conditioning a bit for the cop test, but I’d still be dealing with deadbeats and crap shifts.” He hunched over the counter. “I mean, what if I got night shifts? I’d have to quit the band. My family would worry every day, and I’d never see them. I don’t want to put them through that.”
“I get it.” Retail was crap hours, but at least it was relatively safe.
He dragged himself out of the seat and stood. “Listen, it’s okay if you’d rather not be my reference. We only re-met recently, and saying no could put you in a weird place with Shelby. Plus, if I wasn’t great at it, it’d affect your boss’s opinion ofyour recommendations. I don’t want to mess up your job or friendship, so–”
“Don’t be so dramatic," I said.
His eyebrows shot up. “Says the girl who threw a lemon wedge.”
I rolled my eyes, then primly faced him. “I would be honored to be your reference. As long as you promise to be a gentleman.”
He snorted, but smiled. “Does that mean chewing with my mouth closed?”
“That’s a start.” I held out a wing.
He took the chicken and moved it as if we shared a handshake via transference. A weird warmth flared through my veins. Maybe it was the tequila from last night reactivated by proximity. That could be a thing.
Zack tore off a hunk of chicken with his teeth and licked the sauce from his lips. His dark eyes shone with triumph.
Damn.Did he have to look so confident?
“You also need to get a haircut.” I wiped my hand off, then pointed at his face. “And not something cheap.”
He laughed and a piece of meat flew free before his fist could catch it.
I dodged, nearly falling off the wobbly stool. “Ah, you just spat food at me.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” He grabbed my forearm and yanked me upright to steady me. “Do you have a pre-approved barber shop you’d like to refer me to as well?”
“Maybe.” My heart thumped faster the longer he smiled at me. Why was he staring? Face hot, I raised my chin. “If you could refrain from speaking while you’re eating–”
