My teeth grind together. I hate that my hands itch to pull those braids while I… nope.
Not going there.
So I do the only thing I can.
I turn cold. Mean. Gruff enough to put distance between us before I do something stupid.
She looks like fucking Tinkerbell, all light and spark, and me?
I’m Peter Pan.
I don’t stay. Don’t fight fair. And I sure as hell don’t belong anywhere outside my own version of Neverland.
Girls like her should stay far the hell away from men like me.
She balances a tray full of beers with easy grace, moving through the bar like she belongs here more than I ever will. I steal a look as she walks past, denim hugging her just right, and something in my jaw locks.
She stops at a table of construction workers I know well.
Max grins at her. She smiles back.
My gaze tracks his, watches it drop, linger, and something dark twists low in my chest, hot and immediate, pressing hard against my ribs. An urge hits fast and sharp. To pull her into the kitchen. To put myself between her and that look. To wipe that damn smile off his face.
What the fuck?
I like Max. He’s a good customer. He’s helped me more than once with renovations around the bar.
This isn’t him.
This is me.
And I need to get away before I cross a line I can’t uncross.
“Take over,” I say, voice rough as I pass Stephen. “I’m in my office.”
I don’t wait for an answer. I just turn and walk away.
???
Alexis
I step outside for a second, phone pressed to my ear as it rings, my chest tight while I wait for my mom to pick up so I can tell her I won’t be coming home again. It goes to voicemail. I’ve been calling her for days, and she still doesn’t pick up. A familiar knot settles in my chest. Part of me wonders if she’s okay, but going back means putting myself in Russel’s path again, and I can’t risk that. I’ll try calling her again tomorrow.
Dex doesn’t come out of his office until evening, right when the bar starts to fill. I’m wiping down the counter when I feel his presence before I hear him.“Tomorrow,” he says flatly, his eyes flicking to my braids, “try not to look like a child.”
I blink. “What?”
“Those damn braids,” he continues, jaw tight, “they make you look like a damned teenager. Last thing I need is people thinking I employ children at my bar.”
I flare up, heat rushing to my face, sharp and immediate, stinging more than it should. “I’m twenty-three!” I snap, trying to keep my voice even but failing just a little.
Dex just stares. Cold. “You look twelve.”
I bite my lip, forcing my anger down. “Yes, boss,” I murmur through clenched teeth. I mentally flip him off.Stupid asshole.
Stephen, hovering with a tray of drinks, smirks at me. “I like your braids, Lexy,” he says, leaning casually on the counter. “They really suit you.”
A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it, quick and surprised, the tension loosening just a little.
