“How so?”
Her lips twitch.
“Show me yours, I’ll show you mine,” she says, lowering her voice and taking a step toward me.Leaning. “Know what I mean?”
Something is off. Her words mismatched with her mannerisms. She’s not flushed or flustered. She’s cool. Calculated, even. I stroke my mustache.
She toys with her hair.
“I have a date tonight with one of the men who liked on me. We’re having a beer.”
Liked on me?
“You’re meeting one of them?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest. “Tonight?”
“I am.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder with way too much gusto. There it is: She’s lying. “I bought new panties—black thongs mostly.” I happily visualize this now that I know she’s not wearing them for someone else. “Very stringy. I figured, why not? What’s it going to hurt? I’ve been out of the game a long time. This is a good place to start.”
“Stringy?” I ask, dragging the word out. “Really?”
“Yes,really.” A defensive edge creeps into her voice, and it’s pinched the way it seems to get when I call her out. Judging by the way she keeps touching things behind the bar, she knows I know she’s bullshitting me. “You think I’m just going to sit at home and twiddle my thumbs while everyone else is out having fun and getting sex?” She scoffs with a bat of her hand; I resist the urge to kiss her on the mouth. “I need the relief, you know? I need sex—now. I’m just a walking pressure cooker about to explode. Probably won’t take much, really.” She winces. “Probably just a touch.” Another wince. “Or lick.” Wince. “Or something.”
I work my teeth over my bottom lip.
“You need toget sexnow, huh?”
“Yes.” Her eyes widen. “No. Notnownow, like later now. On my date.”
I press my lips into a flat line and she presses the back of her hand to her face—which is as red as the shirt on my back.
Headlights shine through the front windows as a couple cars park. The first guests are here. Too bad. This was entertaining.
I look her over one more time, visions of her with licks, touches, and black thongs dancing in my head. I am a grown man with a very big crush. “You’ll have to let me know how that works out.”
Her jaw drops.
I grin.
The door opens to usher in the rest of the night.
The tables and bar are filled with people, most of whom I’ve known for years and have supported the business since day one. The donation box at the door is overflowing with leashes, doggy toys, and boxes of treats as the band plays every Christmas song ever written with a twist of rock.
Goose, despite the chaos, doesn’t budge from his spot on the floor.
While some people hate these things, I thrive on them. I love my job and the people who let me do it. Every handshake, conversation of beer, and wide smiledMerry Christmas!is genuine. My oncemaybe somedaydream gets to be my daily reality. The scariest thing I’ve ever done with my life will forever be one of my best.
To her credit, Hollis recovers from her little act beautifully. She pours beer with focus like I’ve never seen and delivers plates of brats with a bright smile on her face.
It’s only when she catches me looking at her does her demeanor falter.
I can’t help but wonder what she thinks of all this. A night she’d usually spend at a bake sale with her kids, but instead she’s pouring beer. Her smile looks genuine, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t still rather be doing what she’s always done.
Behind the bar, I restock glasses as Hollis serves a regular, Rich, wearing his annual Christmas tree sweater with working lights.
“You new?” Rich asks as Hollis passes him a beer.
“Just helping for the night,” she tells him. “You come every year?”
“Ain’t Christmas without it. It’s tradition,” he says, taking a sip with an audibleah!
