My skin prickles as he scans his eyes up and down my body in obvious interest, and I can’t help taking a small step back, feeling incredibly awkward. It’s not as though I haven’t had guys check me out before, but I can’t remember anyone being so…blatant. Or so young. This guy wouldn’t be out of place at college with my kids.
He leans forward and rests his weight on his forearms, basically draping himself across the bar and looking up at me through ridiculously long lashes. “I’ll have one of your…orgasmicwhiskey sours,” he drawls.
I swallow hard and take another step back, the prickling unease turning into burning discomfort. What the fuck is happening right now?
“Excuse me?”
He lets out a soft, husky laugh and peels himself off the bar, returning to his full height. “This afternoon Gia served me the mostincrediblewhiskey sour I’ve ever tasted and she said you were the man to thank for it.”
That he’s ever tasted?He can’t have tasted that many—he barely looks old enough to drink.
“You got ID?” I ask gruffly.
He lets out a derisive laugh. “You can’t be serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be serious? You look like you’re about seventeen.” Alright, that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but he’s young enough that asking feels necessary.
With a roll of his eyes, he tugs his wallet out of his pocket and fishes out his ID, handing it over. I take it from him and study the birthdate, registering that he’s twenty-one—twenty-two in a couple months’ time.
I give a brief nod and am about to hand it back to him when I catch sight of the name.
My surprise must show on my face, because he gives a soft chuckle. “It’s not a fake, if that’s what you’re thinking.” I glance up to find him smirking at me, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Can I have that drink now?”
My brows draw together as I return my attention to the card in my hand. “Jasper Grimsay?” I ask him, still feeling completely baffled. “You’reJasper Grimsay?”
Jesus Christ. He actually does own the place. This Rich Pretty Boy who keeps staring at me like he wants to rip my shirt off and lick his way down my chest is my fucking boss.
I give a sharp shake of my head, not liking how uncomfortable this whole encounter is making me. I have noissue with guys being together; my brother’s married to a man, for fuck’s sake. I just really need this…child to stop ogling me.
“I asked a question, Damon. And I think the words you’re looking for are “yes, boss”.”
My eyes flash to his as heat inexplicably rushes to my cheeks. I can tell by the levity still dancing in his eyes that he’s not serious, but even so I can’t help thinking that he’s the kind of guy who’s used to getting what he wants without much question.
Turning away from him, I start collecting the ingredients for his cocktail, taking a second to gather myself. Fuck, I don’t know why he’s making me so nervous. I don’tgetnervous. I certainly don’t let little shits with more money than is good for themmakeme nervous with a couple words and lingering glances.
“Damn,”I hear him murmur from behind me.
Snapping my head back, I pin him with a narrowed look. “What is it?”
He just smirks at me. “Nothing. Just enjoying the view. Your back’s even better to look at than your front.”
“You know there is such a thing as workplace harassment,” I point out as I once again turn my attention to his drink.
Why the hell is he rattling me so much? It’s hardly the first time I’ve been complimented on my body, or even been hit on. I was a personal trainer for twenty years and sometimes there were clients who needed a gentle reminder of where the line was. But I was always able to brush it off easily, without it affecting the working relationship.
“Are you making a formal complaint?” he asks in a curious tone.
I glance back at him, one eyebrow arched. “Just stating a fact.”
I finish making Jasper’s whiskey sour and slide it across the bar to him. He takes a sip, his eyes falling closed as he lets out a soft moan that’s practically obscene.
“And just so there’s no confusion here—I’m straight,” I tell him.
His eyes fly open, full of that condescending amusement that I’m starting to think is a permanent feature. “I know.”
My jaw almost hits the bar. “What?If you knew I was straight why the hell were you…you know.” I gesture wildly at myself, indicating the way he’s been blatantly ogling me.
He shrugs. “What? A guy can’t look? Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, but you know it really says more about you than it does about me if you can’t handle a guy checking you out.”
