Probably because he cared for Charlie.
“Another round of shots if he sinks this three.” A tall, rowdy man with a handlebar mustache hit the bar top hard, shakingsome glasses, and bam. The up-and-coming point guard made a three-pointer at the end of the third quarter, and the place vibrated with cheers.
I poured seven shots of rum and slid them to Handlebar. He passed them to his friends as I added drinks to his tab. The tips had been incredible. Thank god for the Bulls winning because their success meant more drinks, and more drinks meant more tips, and here we were. Orders flew up and down the bar, and I raced to each one.
Lagers. Whiskey. Shots. Wine. Cocktails. Mules.
I poured and smiled and accepted their cash. I cleaned dirty glasses and restocked them, and I dripped with sweat. My mouth was dry, and I took a deep breath, needing two seconds of rest. It was that moment Cal came behind the bar, his navy-blue T-shirt sticking to his chest and his black jeans resting on his hips. I was hungry and weak, and that was the only reason I admired his pecs and forearms.
“Hey, take a breather.” He walked so close our feet touched. “You’ve been running around like mad.”
“So have you and Alex,” I fired back, even though a break sounded really nice. “I’m fine.”
“Elle.” He gently touched my elbow again and pulled me toward the office. My feet kinda went with it because I saw a chair in there, and oof, I wanted a chair. “Five minutes. I brought energy balls.”
“Wait, what?” I eyed him, suspicious of his intentions right now. “Are you offering me your balls?”
One side of his mouth quirked up, and the half-smile changed his entire face. He wasgorgeouswith that grin. Fuck, I did need food. He pushed me, softly, into the chair and shut the door. It blocked out the noise from the game, and it was just us in the small space. Him being gentle messed with my anger. Staying mad at him was safer.
He smelled like laundry and sweat, and his breath hit my face—minty andwhy is he leaning toward me?
I froze, unsure what I wanted him to do. Kiss me? Leave me alone? I gripped the sides of the chair as my heart raced. But Cal only grabbed a bag of treats that rested on the table behind me. I exhaled, feeling silly for even thinking he was going to kiss me. All that talk with Dani about romance had gotten to me.
“Your balls, I take it?”
“It’s granola and peanut butter and a little bit of chocolate. Chia seeds. Protein powder. I eat them before a hard practice. Eat three, then you can come out.”
“Are you the boss of me?” I said, sounding mature as hell.
“I’d like to be,” he said, heat entering his eyes and sending an SOS to my lower parts.
A tug plucked down there, and I wanted to see what else he had to say. But he blinked back, almost like he surprised himself, and he pointed a finger at me. “Eat three.”
He shoved the door open and left, leaving me alone with the balls and my confused, pounding pulse. He wanted to boss me around? Was that… sexual? Like a dom thing? To each their own, hell, if it’s consensual who the fuck cares what people are into, butbossme around? A hint of shiver tickled my spine at the thought of Cal Holt telling me what to do in bed.
He’d be firm but soft, aggressive but tender. His hands had to be talented, and that jawline was meant for face-sitting. We wouldn’t talk, no. That would piss me off, so it’d be an anger bang. Oh, one of my favorite tropes. Theget it out of our systemone. Then, after nights of passion, he’d realize he was a dick and change. Oh, I could see the entire story playing out—
“Stop sitting on your ass. We need help!” Alex poked their head in and screamed at me. “Come on, Barbie.”
I shoved the third ball in my mouth, chewing fast as an embarrassed blush covered me head to toe. I didn’t want Alexthinking me lazy or not helpful. Damn Cal and his balls. I’d gotten caught up in my head again and ugh.Focus.
Throwing myself back to it, I hated to admit Cal was right. I’d needed the extra fuel. The shepherd’s pie was great, but that had been five hours ago, and I wasn’t someone who worked out a lot, (meaning ever) so the calories I was burning far outranked what I ate, and the balls did the trick. I felt stronger and less attracted to Cal. High five, me.
The Bulls won, making it 2-0, and everyone went bananas. Drinks spilled (aka were tossed into the air), and I was sticky everywhere. And not in a fun way. I listened to older folks go on and on about the Bulls in the 90s and how it was their year, but I was not prepared for this wildness on a Tuesday night. It wasn’t even the finals!
“More beer!” A large man dressed in a red polo approached the bar. His face was stern and unsmiling as he waved a twenty at me. “Each second it takes you to pour my drink is one dollar less of a tip, Blondie. Now hustle.”
My jaw clenched as I forced a tight smile. Fuck that guy and his attitude. We made enough tips already that night, so his precious twenty could suck my ass. Instead of rushing for him, I took my time cashing out the latest patron.
“You dumb or what? Pour my beer.”
“Enough.” Cal appeared, his face twisted in fury. He had an inch or two above the man in red, and I wasn’t kidding about how mad he looked. My stomach flipped over, and I sucked in a breath as Cal gripped the guy’s collar and yanked. “Get out.”
“What the fuck, dude?”
“You have three seconds.”
“Oh, like I’m a toddler? The blonde took too long getting my goddamn drink. Charlie wouldn’t allow this shitty service. Where is that fat fucker anyway?”
