“Watch out! Coming through!” I holler over the almost deafening noise of the music as I attempt to maneuver my way through the heaving crowd. Lifting the tray over my head, I shimmy sideways, slipping nimbly between a rowdy group of frat boys. Some dickhole squeezes my ass, and I shriek, almost dropping the tray of empty glasses as I fight my way back to the bar.
The End Zone—the sports bar where I work Thursday and Friday nights—is popular with my fellow Oregon students. Live music on the weekends is a big draw, and the boss is particular about the acts he books. While the manager is careful who gets in the door, and we have a strict alcohol policy, this is a regular spot for juniors and seniors who like to party it up on the weekends in downtown Eugene. Some of them are known to get more than a little disruptive when booze is involved.
Most of the college freshman and sophomores stick to the other sports bar or the tavern closest to campus because both establishments are known to pass a blind eye to fake IDs and clearly underage patrons.
It's one of the reasons I enjoy working here. The management never allows it to get too wild, and the crew is tight. We look out for one another. If I’d seen who groped me, I could tell Manford, and he’d kick the perv out. But an ass squeeze is the least of my worries tonight. Navigating the packed bar, and surviving without any breakages or spillages, is priority number one.
Pushing through the thirsty students swarming the bar, I maneuver to the end of the counter, to the area reserved for staff, and set my tray down with a relieved sigh. Glasses rattle as Camila instantly grabs it, making brief eye contact with me before she takes it straight to the dishwasher. Everyone is working at max speed tonight, and the manager called in extra staff when he realized we were going to be packed to capacity.
“Hey, Stevie. Is everything cool out there?” Manford—the head bartender on duty tonight— asks as he lands in front of me on the other side of the bar. “It’s pretty insane tonight.”
“It’s a goddamned jungle, but I’ve seen it worse.” Not often, but enough to know I’ll get through it intact. Brushing damp tendrils of red hair back off my brow, I fan my face with my hands in an attempt to cool down. I’m glad I wear my long, thick auburn hair up in a messy bun for work. Despite the AC working full throttle, it’s hotter than hell in the room, and we’re all feeling it.
“The new guy has them eating out of the palm of his hand,” Manford says, jerking his head toward the stage in the back as he reads my next order from the tablet in front of him. We went digital a few months back, and there’s no denying it’s very helpful on busy nights.
Casting a quick glance over my shoulder, I stare at the dark-haired guy on stage. I can barely see him through the throng of students standing and dancing around the high tables on that side of the bar. He is sitting on a stool, strumming a guitar, and belting out the lyrics to some classic pop and rock songs with his eyes closed.
“He’s good,” I agree, pouring myself a glass of ice water from the jug Manford keeps topped up for the servers. I have been subconsciously listening to him play as I work the tables. “His husky voice is very distinctive, and he definitely knows how to work a crowd.”
“Doesn’t hurt he’s easy on the eyes.” Camila smirks as she wipes the sticky counter down with a damp cloth.
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t had a second to look, and you can hardly see him from here. I’ll just have to take your word for it.” I guzzle water as I wait for Manford to finish my order for table five.
“Go see for yourself.” Manford smirks, thrusting a bottle of water and a glass filled with ice at me. “Take them to Garrick. He’s overdue a refill, and he’ll be taking a break shortly. Got to keep the new talent happy. Boss already confirmed he wants to book him for the regular Friday night slot.”
If this is the kind of attention he attracts, can’t say I blame the boss.
Taking the bottle and glass, I navigate my way around the perimeter of the room, heading toward the stage. A line of girls, two rows deep, crams the front of the stage, swaying and singing along as Garrick works the crowd like a pro. I roll my eyes at their obviousness as they jostle one another, vying for the best position in the hope he’ll notice them first.
Donny is part of the security team tonight, and he looks like a grumpy sentinel standing guard at the side of the stage. With a curt bob of his head, he steps aside to allow me to pass.
Garrick brings the song to a close just as I walk up the five short steps to the platform. The girls at the front scream and shout vulgar proposals as he opens his eyes and grins at the adoring crowd. “Thank you. I’m gonna take a short break,” he says, tilting his head to the side as I approach. His eyes flit between me and the audience. “But don’t go anywhere. I’m not finished with you yet!” He flashes a blinding grin at the crowd, and I swear I hear audible swooning.
Swiveling around on his stool, he fixes me with the same dazzling smile, showcasing a set of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth behind a wide mouth and lush full lips. Dark hair curtains his handsome face, and the tousled strands look like he was repeatedly running his fingers through it. A few errant tendrils are stuck to his brow, and there’s a light sheen of sweat coating his skin. The lights are strong up here, and my shirt is already clinging to my spine. Sweeping his chin-length hair back off his face, he lifts his eyes to mine, and my heartbeat speeds up.
Camila wasn’t wrong.
This guy is totally freaking hot. Like model or rock star hot.
He’s also younger than I was expecting. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s in his early twenties. High cheekbones, smooth olive-toned skin, a strong nose, and a chiseled jawline with an artful layer of stylish stubble complete the features of his gorgeous face. He has the most mesmerizing hazel eyes, framed by long, thick black lashes. His grin expands, revealing matching dimples, as we stare at one another, and I smother a sigh.
Of course, he has dimples.
As if he wasn’t already gorgeous enough.
I realize I’m being rude and obvious in the extreme, so I shake myself out of it and break eye contact. Clearing my throat and the brain fog from my head, I hand him the bottle of water and the glass. “Manford thought you might be thirsty.” I have to shout over the noisy bar to be heard.
Placing his guitar aside, he reaches for the drink. His fingers brush against mine in the exchange, and our eyes lock together again. “That was thoughtful of you both. Thank you.”
My breath hitches in my throat, and butterflies swoop into my chest as he pins me with another glorious smile. Dimples and stunning smiles should be outlawed as a lethal combination capable of annihilating the female race. I’m pretty successful at deflecting interest from the opposite sex, but give me a set of dimples and a gorgeous smile, and I’m as ovary punched as the next girl.
Garrick climbs off the stool, unfurling to his full height. He towers over my five-feet-nine-inch frame, proving he’s well over six feet tall. His torso is lean, but his shoulders are broad and there is clear definition in his chest, abs, and arms underneath his fitted white T-shirt. Wrinkled jeans hug his long legs, and the dark denim hangs tantalizingly from his shapely hips. Worn tan boots encase large feet, and this guy truly is the full package.
It's just as well I’ve sworn off men and his effect will only be fleeting and temporary.
“Follow me,” he says, snapping me out of my ogling. He’s still grinning as he walks off, and I wonder if the guy ever stops smiling.
Confusion puckers my brow, but like a trained puppy, I trail him across the stage and through the small door at the back. It leads into a self-contained soundproofed area that was built specifically for the various entertainers who have graced the stage here. The main space, currently empty, holds a three-seater leather couch, a rectangular coffee table, a mini refrigerator, wall-mounted TV, and a table with snacks. Enclosed on the left is a small bathroom with a shower, and on the right is a private dressing area. It’s compact but appropriate.
