I blink at him, then grin. “Gracias—” I clear my throat. “Thank you.”
“De nada.” He smiles, head slanting. “I never saw you in here before this week, but one more night and you’ll be a regular.”
Oh boy…
“I’m just visiting,” I hum, leaning in on the bar. “Have you… worked here long?” I ask, hoping to distract him and pull focus from me.
“About a year,” he tells me, eyes shifting to one of the servers who has approached the bar with a tray.
The bartender arranges shot glasses on it, pulling out a bottle.
“You like it?” My eyes are stuck on what he’s doing; pouring liquor into the shot glasses.
“Yea. Money’s good,” he answers casually. “Better than any of the other clubs in the area.”
He spins away from me, bending to rustle something out of a mini fridge. My eyes linger, unintentionally, on the way he fills out those tiny leather shorts, while I suck on the draw of my drink.
When he turns back, I fling my covetous gaze away fast. But I think he caught me, because he’s smirking as he goes about finishing the shots for his coworker. As soon as the other guy leaves,bartender boycomes back to me.
“Plus, I like meeting new people.” His eyes fall to my mouth, and the way I’m chewing my straw a little too hard.
“I’m guessing your boss is good to you, then?” I press on, now that I guess I have his attention. “The manager… the owner…”
“Dom is fine.” His glanced up, and I follow his line of sight. “He’s kind of a hard-ass, but that’s to be expected.”
The man he’s looking at is standing across the room, speaking to one of the dancers in between glancing at his phone screen. I’ve seen him before, and figured he was the manager, being that he’s always sauntering around in an expensive suit, checking on things.Coming in and out of those doors I’m not allowed through…
“The owner, I’ve never met,” the guy goes on, luring me back to him. “No one but Dom has. We don’t even know his name, it’s very mysterious.”
Hm, I’ll bet.
My head cocks. “So you don’t know if he’s ever been here…?”
He shakes his head, leaning in even farther to whisper by my face. “He could be here right now and we’d have no idea.”
Zeal zips up my spine like an icy finger. I almost flinch, biting my lip at this notion.
But the bartender—whose name I still don’t know, not that it matters—clearly thinks this reaction is for him. He’s all bent over, thickly muscled and popping his barely-covered ass out.
“You’re hot,” he hums, just loud enough that I can hear him.
I feel my face flushing. “Thank you…” I mumble, and he chuckles. “So are… you…”
Acting. I’m supposed to be acting… better.
Smoother, or more confident or something. But right now, I just feel… confused. Keyed up.
I know I find this guy attractive. That wasn’t an act. He’s super hot, and that’s fine, because I know I’m gay… So why is flirting with this dude making me feel all itchy everywhere?
It’s because you’re supposed to be working, idiota. Not flirting with random sexy bartenders.
Remember why you’re here… El objetivo.
“I take my break in a few minutes…” the bartender purrs. “Maybe we can go somewhere and… talk.”
My lashes flutter, but I attempt to rein it in. Not be overwhelmed by this, but see it for what it is… A golden opportunity.
Gaze flicking briefly in the direction of the manager, who just stalked back through the elusive door, I stow my rampant nervous excitement and peek at the bartender.
