“It’s going to get easier,” she says again, rubbing my back, fingers finding the protrusions in my spine where I hunch forward. “Trust me.”
I huff out a breath and straighten. “Thanks.”
Sonny nudges me. “Go. Table by the window. Easy ones. Try again.”
I try again, wondering as I do which table Midnight claims as his when he’s here?Does he have a favorite server? Does he come in alone or with people? Does he sit with his back to the wall?
It’s going to take more than one shift to get a handle on anything, but hell—I’m here. It’s a step.
I slide an order to Ever and wait for him to fill it, one soft sole of my flats tapping a harsh staccato against the floor.
Ever glances down at my handwriting and pauses, snagging on something. “Gin. For table five.”
It’s not a question.
“Yes, gin. Neat. That’s what he said.” My voice comes out defensive before I can stop it.
Ever’s gaze flicks from me to the table, eyes narrowing to a thin, disbelieving line. He’s been quiet all night—capable, controlled, moving between tasks slow and methodical.
Now he shakes his head once, sharp.
“Not gin,” he says. “Alex is allergic to juniper berries. He would’ve asked for Jinro.”
Not gently. Efficiently.
My spine goes rigid as adrenaline floods my mouth with the taste of copper.
“No, I—” I swallow. “I was sure he said gin.”
“Jinro,” Ever repeats, alreadyreaching for the bottle. “Served neat. It’s an export from Japan.” He pours without measuring. “Smooth. Hint of sweetness.”
“Like you, Reva.” Shiloh appears at my shoulder, nudging my arm with the point of his elbow.
Heat blooms across my cheeks.
“She could’ve killed him,” Ever says, lifting his gaze to Shiloh. Not to me.
“You caught it. Go easy.”
I hate being saved. Again. And he’s right—if I’d served the wrong thing to a patron with an allergy, it wouldn’t matter that I know what to do in an emergency. It would still be on me.
“No, he’s right,” I say, snatching the filled glass the second Ever sets it down. “It won’t happen again.”
I pile the drinks on the tray, ignoring the heat. Ignoring the way both their gazes needle into my skin and somehow burrow beneath it without touching me.
They’re dangerous. Especially when they’re right. Flushed, I carry the drinks to the table, throat tight the whole way.
Fuck Shiloh and his flirting, even though I know why he does it. He breathes sin and charisma constantly, but it’s dual-purpose—disarms patrons, smooths tension, oils the gears.
When he focuses on me, though, it feels like somethingelse. Like he’s keeping me within arm’s reach. Like he wants me aware he’s there.
Hungry.
Which means I need to get my answers before his effortless charm wears me down again. Before I start mistaking attention for safety. Before I forget why I came.
Teeth grinding, jaw clenched, I cut back through the room toward Sonny, who greets me with two thumbs up.
“Girl, keep your wits,” she says, jerking her nose toward Shiloh. “I see him looking. He’s a pirate, that one. And who the hell cares, because he’s damn fine to look at.”
