Becca laughs and can’t stop for at least a solid thirty seconds.
“If your boob falls out, I’m pretty sure our tips would increase exponentially.” She glances at her watch. “Okay, almost showtime. Remember, anything off these top two shelves, double-check the price with me before ringing them up.That’s our expensive stuff, and we don’t want to accidentally undercharge.”
“Got it. Okay, let’s do this.”
I have to admit, even though I’m dressed in a revealing outfit, bartending the last few weekends was much more fun than being a dishwasher. It also put an extra hundred dollars in tips in my pocket at the end of each night.
The vibe in this ballroom is quite elegant. They’ve got a live jazz band playing, and the catering staff are on the floor with trays of delectable-looking hors d’oeuvres.
This fundraiser is for a tri-county organization that provides male role models and mentors to boys as young as six, sometimes following them through until they’ve graduated college. It’s apparently quite exclusive and sells out annually, despite tickets starting at two hundred dollars each—three hundred if you want seats at a reserved table for the evening. Oh, and it’s a men-only event. That’s why I’m sure it’s no mistake that most of the servers are stunning women with killer bodies. The two male servers they do have working could easily be male models.
The event organizers open the fancy carved wooden doors, and guests trickle in.
“Let the games begin,” Becca says with a smile.
Within a minute or two, our first customers are at the bar. At the forty-five-minute mark, we’re non-stop. Becca was right, the amount of money these men are dropping in the tip jar is lunacy.
“Delaney?” The voice is deep, familiar. I take a second to glance in the direction it came from, and I freeze. I can’t speak, but I also can’t stop looking at him. He takes a few steps closer to me. “You work here, too?”
Wonderful. Hayden Aron has now seen me in my upscale stripper outfit. I’m instantly self-conscious, wondering how much of my cleavage is on display, but I resist glancing downto check. To Hayden’s credit, he hasn’t let his eyes drift south, either.
I resume pouring the two beers my current customer ordered and avoid holding eye contact with Hayden for more than a few seconds at a time.
“Um, yep. Just here and there.”
His brow furrows, and I worry. I don’t want the brothers to think I’m not satisfied with my pay at the company. It’s generous.
“Just some fun money. That’s all.” With the order filled, I peer up at him. “It was good to see you, but duty calls.” I hold up the glasses for him to see, smile, and return to the waiting gentleman.
I don’t look back to see where he walks off to. As long as I don’t know where he’s sitting, I can’t check to see if his brothers are here as well. So, I don’t know whether they are or not, and I can still pretend Harrison isn’t here.
Please, universe, do not let Harrison Aron be here tonight.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Harrison
“Wow, Hayd, you aren’t messing around, are you?” I ask. I eye the tray he’s holding with eight shots. I assume two for each of us.
He shrugs. I glance over at Holden, and there’s no denying the concern on his face.
“Yeah, well, you’re gonna need these,” Hayden says. He doesn’t make eye contact with me.
Huh?
Hayden passes out the shots and insists we drink the first one at the same time. So, we do.
“Fuck, Hayden.” Henry sputters through a cough. “Jäger? Seriously, are you trying to kill me?”
“You’ve become more of a wuss since you got married. You know that, right?” Hayden asks.
“Sure. Whatever you say.” Henry takes several gulps of his water, presumably trying to get the flavor out of his mouth.
Hayden smiles. He actually fucking smiles, and it’s damn good to see since it happens so infrequently nowadays. The thought saddens me.
Hayden’s always been on the quiet side, more like me than like our more boisterous brothers, but he was engaging and happy. Now he’s more withdrawn, and he isolates himself. Yes, he’s grieving the loss of his marriage, but I’m concerned about him. His newly found habit of drowning his sorrows in alcohol worries me.
“Here,” Henry slides his second shot to the middle of the table, “One of you take this. No way am I doing another.”
