"That was rhetorical. Don't answer."
Mama Paws releases Hendrix from his cage and he immediately does a victory lap around the bar, shrieking "What the puuuuck?" over and over, like he's narrating his own life.
The pit bull—name tag says Roxie—plants herself at Ace's feet and gazes up at him with the kind of devotion usually reserved for deities.
"I think you have a fan," I say.
"I didn't do anything."
"You exist. That's enough." I crouch down to scratch behind her ears. She's all wiggling happiness and soulful eyes. "She's got excellent taste."
Ace crouches too, offering his hand. Roxie immediately starts licking his fingers like he's made of bacon.
We're both down here now, close enough that I can smell his cologne, which I try not to sniff but definitely do.
When he looks up, our faces are maybe a foot apart.
His eyes are so blue they look Photoshopped. Nobody's eyes are actually that blue in real life. It's offensive.
"You're staring again," he says quietly.
"Yeah, well." I stand up fast, putting distance between us before I boil over inside. "Like I said. You're hot. It's a whole situation."
He laughs, soft and surprised, and the sound burrows into my chest and refuses to leave.
Mama Paws flips the sign toOPEN.
"Alright, boys!" she calls out, clapping her hands together. "Let's make some magic!"
CHAPTER 8
ACE
MY FIRST CUSTOMER orders aManhattan, and I'm pretty sure my soul leaves my body. "Awhat?"
"Manhattan." He says it like it's a normal drink people order, which it probably is, but I'm a jock, not a mixologist. "Whiskey, vermouth, bitters—"
"Right. Yeah. I know." I absolutely do not know, but I'm nodding like I do while my brain is screaming ,What the fuck is vermouth?
The guy's waiting.
I'm sweating.
The bar has been open for exactly four minutes and I'm already sweating.
Devon materializes at my elbow like he's been summoned by my panic. "I got this."
He makes the drink in what feels like three seconds, grabbing funny-looking bottles, measuring without measuring, the whole thing annoyingly smooth, and slides it across the bar.
The customer takes a sip. "Perfect."
"What can I say?" Devon shoots him a grin. "I'm a professional."
I wait until the customer leaves before hissing, "I thought you were new to this."
"And? I'm a quick learner." He's already moving on to the next order, this confidence radiating off him that makes me want to both admire and strangle him. "Just follow my lead. You'll be fine."
I will not be fine.
