I close out my set with “Santa Monica” by Everclear, which is a good boner-killer given the subject matter. This time I actually need to pay attention to looping all the riffs and beats and chords and making sure the different layers sync properly. It doesn’t need to sound like a backing track for the original song—if I wanted to use a backing track, I’d use a fucking backing track—but everything still needs to blend together in a way that makes sense.
Once the song’s over I pack up my guitar and turn off my equipment. Then I switch the speakers over to the playlist we use during my breaks and leave the stage, heading straight for the bar.
“Whiskey sour, please,” I say to Damon, flashing a broad grin.
He lets out a weary sigh. “Gia can get it.”
I somehow manage not to roll my eyes. Seriously? We go through this every night. Usually all it takes is a pointed glance in Gia’s direction, because that girl is like an octopus behind the bar—she’s usually serving about four customers at once and rarely has time to catch her breath, let alone make me a drink.Right now, however, it looks as though she’s just finishing up a payment and Shane seems to be covering the other end of the bar pretty well so there doesn’t appear to be anyone waiting.
Opting for a different approach, I lean over the bar and bat my eyelashes at Damon. “But you know Gia can’t give me what I want. Yours is the only cock—” I break off, making a dramatic show of putting my hand to my mouth and clearing my throat. “Sorry…cocktailI want in my mouth.”
Damon closes his eyes for a long moment, as though attempting to gather his patience. “Do you ever think about anything other than sex?”
I straighten back to my full height, the corner of my mouth curving up. “Who said anything about sex? I thought we were talking about whiskey sours?”
He lets out a frustrated huff and shakes his head. “You’re such a shit.”
I nod. “So I’ve been told. I’m also your boss, so can you please make me my drink now?”
He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath as he turns toward the back bar to mix my drink.
And I take the opportunity to let an incredibly dirty fantasy play out in my head as I stare avidly at the way his muscles ripple and his ass clenches with every shake of my cocktail.
And there are three separate shakes. I know there’s supposed to be a dry shake and a wet shake, but I have no clue what the other one is and it’s been driving me crazy all week. Whatever the reason, I’m not complaining in the slightest.
When Damon hands me my drink, I bring it to my lips and let out a moan of ecstasy as I get my first taste. I’m exaggerating for effect, of course, because the sound seems to make Damon incredibly uncomfortable. But, as usual, he hasn’t moved away to serve some actual customers. He’s just standing there, eyesdarting everywhere but at me as he tries not to look as flustered as he obviously is.
“Why the three shakes?” I ask curiously.
He startles at the question, brows furrowing. “Huh?”
I nod to the back bar. “For the cocktail. Why the extra shake?”
“I always do three shakes.”
I nod. “I know. But it’s been bugging me. Dry shake. Wet shake…what’s the third?” My mouth curves up at the edge. “Or is it just to give me an extra-long look at all your flexing muscles and clenched ass?”
He stares at me for a moment. “I don’tclenchmy ass.”
I nod slowly. “Yes you do. Trust me, I’ve been observing very closely.”
“You’re imagining things,” he persists.
“No, imagining things was the fantasy I just had about shoving you into the back bar and burying my cock in your ass,” I tell him. “The clenching was real.”
Damon’s eyes blow wide and his face turns crimson. “That…will never happen,” he bites out, making a valiant attempt to sound calm.
I shrug. “I know. That’s why it’s called afantasy.”
He wipes a hand over his face, letting out a ragged sigh. “Aquafaba.”
“Huh?”
“The other shake. It was to froth up the aquafaba.”
My brows shoot up in surprise. “This is vegan?”
Damon nods, one eyebrow arched. “Is that a problem?”
