She huffs a laugh. “Please, I’m glad for an excuse to leave my sister’s place early tomorrow. I love them but my family is nuts.”
I let out a putter of laughter. “Thenyou could probablyuse an early night to prepare yourself.”
“Oh, yeah, definitely—thanks, Jazz.”
I smile and make my way back to the stage. Considering Mel’s one of the few staff members not taking time off this weekend I’d be more than happy to let her off early tonight even if it weren’t Damon I’m left closing up with. But the fact that it is him means I have an opportunity to continue our conversation from today. And, if necessary, provide him with a…practical demonstration.
Once I’m back on stage and settled in ready to play, I leaninto the mic and tell the modest crowd, “This one’s a request from Damon over at the bar.”
His head snaps up at the sound of his name and he eyes me warily.
I offer a teasing grin and start playing Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy.”
To my delight, Damon bursts into laughter, clearly making the connection to his “Mr. Vain” barb. And as the song continues he really gets into it, strutting around the bar and showing off some flashy flair tricks.
We like to keep the atmosphere light and fun so it’s not unusual for the bartenders to goof around like this during particular songs. Shane has a weak spot for jock jams like “JumpAround” and “Whoomp! (There It Is),” and Gia loves all things teeny bopper. Prior to tonight I would have said Damon’s jam was upbeat alt rock—I’ve seen him strut his stuff to bands like The Spin Doctors, Smashmouth, and Barenaked Ladies—so this is a surprising turn of events. Especially considering how flustered and uncomfortable he usually gets when I single him out for a song. But I guess in this case it was pretty clear I’m making fun of myself, not him. Even so, I wasn’t just winding him up earlier when I said he seemed more relaxed tonight…
I wrap up the song just as Damon is sliding two cocktails across the bar toward a pair of very enthusiastic women. Several other customers at the bar applaud and I’m glad to see there’s a cluster of people hovering around the Tap & Tip screen.
As gladas I am to have witnessed that little show, I can’tresist the temptation to tease him about it so I make my next song Ricky Martin’s “Shake Your Bon-Bon.”
It earns me a begrudgingly amused glance from Damon, who seems to be having trouble convincing some of the customers the previous song’s show isn’t an all-the-time kind of thing; at least, that’s what it looks like based on the way he’s smiling genially while shaking his head and holding his arms out in a helpless gesture while the bar patrons—all three of them blonde women in their latetwenties, if I had to guess—pout and protest. Who knows—maybe they’re telling him he should have been truer to the song and taken his shirt off? That’s definitely the feedback I’ll be giving.
“Why doI get the feeling there’s a hidden motive behind your generous offer to help close up so Mel can leave early?” Damon asks, his skeptical tone carrying across the empty bar from where he’s currently occupied hauling chairs and stools onto thetables so the cleaners will have easy access to the floor tomorrow morning.
“It’s not particularly well-hidden,” I say with a shrug as I continue stacking dirty glasses into a dishwasher rack. “We have a conversation to finish.”
He letsout a soft huff. “Jesus, this isn’t still about my ass, is it?”
I chuckle softly. “No. But while we’re on the topic—thanks for this…”—I gesture in his direction to indicate the work he’s been doing—“I’m enjoying all the bending over and flexing muscles. Thanks so much for volunteering,” I add with a smirk.
Damon rolls his eyes. “This is called habit. I’m usually closing up with either Gia or Mel and I can get this done quicker.”
“We can swap if you want?” I offer. I know he won’t take it, though.
“There’s not much point—I’ll be done in a few minutes. If you can manage to stop bugging me, that is.”
I loadthe rack into the dishwasher and then step back to lean against the back bar, my eyes avidly watching every ripple and flex of Damon’s muscles as he gets on with his task. “Don’t worry. I’ll be good as gold.”
He glances around, brows furrowing when he sees me casually propped against the back bar. “What are you doing?”
“Feasting my eyes.”
“You’re seriously just going to stand there watching me until I’m done?”
I nod. “Yep. And if you feel like taking your shirt off go right ahead. I really don’t mind.”
Damon’s eyes roll so hard it’s a wonder they don’t fall out of his head. “How considerate of you.”
The corner of my mouth curves up in amusement. “That’s what I’m known for.”
He snorts in incredulity and finishes stacking the chairs; then he strides back to the bar, eyes widening in obvious surprise when he sees the clean-up is all but done. “How…?”
“You know I own this bar, right?” I say with a wry grin. “I’ve managed to pick up a few things about how it works.”
It helps that, for a long time, stacking and unstacking the dishwashers was one of the few things I was legally allowed to do around here. My grandma ran the place on my behalf until I turned eighteen but even as a twelve-year-old she insisted I take an active interest in the business, which is something I’m incredibly grateful for now. But that did mean a lot of nights and mornings helping with clean-up and set-up.
Damon lets out a soft huff. “Right. Any particular reason those havebeen left out?” he asks, eyeing the glasses I’ve set on the bar top.
