"No," he said. "Keep it. You helped me out of a tight spot. We just had a bad meeting today. Don't worry about it."
"Anything I can do to help?"
"I'll take that drink. Also I think I might buy you an air-conditioning unit. It's sweltering in here."
Archer took a sip of the sangria. I noticed he had unbuttoned his shirt even more. Archer smirked as he caught me staring.
"You want me to take it all the way off?"
Ida wolf whistled.
"I don't think she could handle it," I said, blushing. I told myself it was the heat.
"Really?" Archer asked. "Because I bet I could be really inspirational."
"It's already too hot in here," I muttered.
"I think I will paint actually," Archer said, smile widening. "Maybe I'll be inspired." He walked up to the blank canvas I had set out for him and proceeded to take off his shirt. The senior citizens all screamed and whistled.
"This shirt was pricy. I don't want to ruin it with paint," Archer said with a wink.
I slapped a hand to my eyes. I would be lying if I said I wasn't peeking. The fine line-work tattoos made a geometric pattern over his chest. They were well composed and done by an artist knowledgeable about their craft. They disappeared into the waist of his dress pants. I wondered how far down the tattoos went.
"I have an apron," I told Archer firmly.
"Boo," Ida said. "I was promised nude models."
I hurried to the storage closet and pulled out a smock. "Here," I said, thrusting it at Archer. "If you're worried about paint, you can wear this."
"You want to cover all this up?" Archer asked, pretending to be offended.
"Yes."No.
Somehow the smock made it worse. For one, it was too small on him. His muscles bulged under the fabric, which rode up whenever he moved his arm so that I could still see his abs.
Archer was in my brain for the rest of the afternoon. Ida would periodically lead a chant of, "Take it off! Take it off!" Archer would obligingly start to lift the smock, and I would yell at him to put it back on.
At the end of the retreat, I was ready to make myself a drink.
The chime at the front door sounded.
"Drinks?" Olivia called as she settled back in a chair.
"Definitely," I said as I pulled out the liquors and started the deep fryer for snacks.
"Someone has men on the brain," Olivia said when she walked over to one of the small tables with the drinks and a plate of Vincent van Goat cheese fritters smothered in local honey.
"I'm not the type of girl Archer wants."
"Uh, I wasn't talking about you. I was talking about my horny grandmother. Ida went on and on about how her Facebook friends are so jealous that she has access to drinks, snacks, and a hot piece of ass, as she put it."
I winced. "You need to control your grandmother."
"And you need to value yourself. You're a bartender and a cook. What man doesn't want that?"
"You mean what man doesn't want a girl who can't even keep her business afloat?"
"Archer has money," Olivia said. "The car he drives could probably pay for this building, pay for the upkeep, and let you have all the paint you desire."
