“What does that mean?” My brows stitch together as the bell above the door rings and the first customers of the day wander in, bringing a slow filter of sunlight with them.
“It means you’re young. How have you found time to go to multiple sex toy parties?”
My eyes widen as I straighten my back and puff out my chest in an attempt to look older. “I’ve lived a very cultured life, if you must know. The city is full of interesting things. We have the Museum of Sex. Did you know that?”
He bites back a smirk and shakes his head.
Oh God, I probably sound like a child. Why am I talking about the Museum of Sex? I went once by accident, because I swear, I thought the sign said ‘museum of snacks.’ I was ready for popcorn and chocolate samples. Instead, I got an education on things that still make me blush.
“No,” his graveled voice blends with the country singer playing over the speakers, “I didn’t know that. What’s a sex museum?”
“It’s, ugh…” I swallow hard as my face heats.Why did I mention the freaking sex museum?“It’s this place where you go and you learn about sex throughout history.”
His brows raise, and he gives me this wide-eyed nod that I’m not sure how to take. “Sounds interesting. What was the weirdest thing you learned?”
“It wasn’t what I learned. It was what I saw.”
What am I even saying? I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I didn’t want to talk about this to begin with. This is weird. This would be weird to talk about with anyone, let alone the boss I’ve been wishing would bend me over.
“Okay,” he grins and brushes his big hand down over his beard, “I’ll bite. What did yousee?”
“Oh.” I glance down at the worn pine floors, trying to muster the courage to speak. “A robot. A sex robot. They called it a desire machine.” I draw my eyes up again slowly. “I guess you like… put your fantasies into its little robot thing, and bam!” My cheeks blaze with heat. “Anyway, the woods around here arenice, but there’s an energy in the city that makes me feel alive. It’s like… a buzz.” I shrug. “I probably sound stupid.”
“No,” he shakes his head and takes another shot of his drink, “I get it. I feel that way about the mountains. There’s freedom up here that I don’t feel anywhere else. Gotta ask, though, why are you up here if you miss home so much? You in some kind of trouble?”
I stare at him a beat too long. “What?” I force a panicked laugh. “No! I’m not in trouble. Why would I be in trouble?”Yup, this totally sounds believable.“The city was too expensive. I told you that during the interview, remember?”
A slow, subtle smirk sits like a phantom on his face as he nods one solid nod. “I remember.”
“What?” I tilt my head to the side. “You’re thinking something. I can see it.”
“No.” He grins, and tugs at his beard as he says, “None of my business why you left the city you claim to love so much. I’d just bet my last dollar it wasn’t because rent was too expensive.”
“That’s not true! The city is too expensive for me to afford on my own.”
“On your own.” His eyes widen and somehow get brighter, as though he’s found the answer he’s been looking for. “There it is. You were seeing someone.”
I glance toward the people looking for a spot to sit. “I better help these customers.”
“Yeah,” he holds up his calloused palms as though he’s showing his cards, “my bad. Your life is none of my business. Thanks for helping tonight. When you’re done serving these two, come find me. We can discuss the details.”
I nod, and he heads back toward his office as an older woman and a woman my age sit at the bar and glance toward the drink menu to the side of the counter. This is my first bartending job, and I still get a little nervous when folks walk in. Last week,this lady asked for a really weird drink I had no clue how to make.
“Excuse me, miss,” the woman with light silver hair calls. “Could you tell us the difference between the blackberry and the blackberry pie whiskey?”
I grab two shot glasses from under the counter and pour a sip of each. “The blackberry has an earthy taste while the blackberry pie is more vanilla-based.”
The women take their shots quick and dirty, then look toward each other and laugh.
“Woo!” The older of the two shakes her head and pushes her glass back toward me. “Dear, I think I’ll go with a Coke. Do you have Coke here?”
I nod and grin before glancing toward the younger girl with long red hair and the lightest blue eyes.
“Coke for me too,” she says, still swallowing, “and a water.”
“It’s her twenty-first birthday. She’s playing hooky from college to spend time with her dear great auntie.” The silver-haired woman grins as I slide her a Coke.
“Nice to meet you.” I hold out my hand and say my name before thinking it through. “I’m Marin.”
