Oh, I bet I’m going to enjoy this.
Jo hovers a shot of tequila in front of me, but I slowly shake my head.
“He’s not a tequila fan,” Jo shares over the mic. “If you make the tip halfway decent, I’ll let you pick your poison and your girl.”
She knows exactly what she’s doing when she looks over her shoulder at where I’m looking.
“Wyn Crowne, tonight’s guest bartender, ladies and gentlemen,” Jo croons out over the mic. And as if she’s some kind of main attraction, the crowd starts hooting and hollering. “Time to show off thosefantasticbartending skills you own and pour your fantasy something worth remembering.”
Chapter Thirteen
Wyn
My knee-jerk reactionshouldbe to straight-up murder them, but my sisters read between the lines and have plucked out palpable chemistry like they’re destined matchmakers.
Their motives have always been well-intentioned, but I never let them meddle in my social life. My version of a good time has never lined up with theirs—I wonder if that’s still the case. Growing up with Lu as our shining example meant we accrued hard, unwavering shells but squishy, hopeful centers when it comes to love and relationships. And they’re both acting on that hopefulness right now as they push me closer to Julian.
“Dealer’s choice,” he says with his eyes on mine. His attention on me is like a full-body experience. I feel iteverywhere, like electricity lingering in the air just after a lightning storm.
The newest bartender with the long blond hair, who looks like she was born when I got my PhD, saunters up beside me. “I’ll offer myself as tribute if nobody is going to take this one,” she says, biting her lip as she mixes a cocktail in her shaker.
Suppressing the glare I’d like to aim her way, I look out across the crowd, noticing everyone’s focused either on Julian or my sister, and there’s not a single face I recognize. The old me would’ve walked away and told the attractive man “thanks, but no thanks” to avoid whatever rumors this would start. Not to mention, if there was someone from the university, faculty or student, in this crowd...The cautious part of me knows that’s still possible, but I’m not the kind of woman who runs anymore. The power of recognizing that winds its way through me.
I raise my leg, wedging my foot into the small step built into the bar, and hoist myself up next to Jo. The crowd cheers out when she smiles and says, “Consider this a very lucky evening, everyone. My big sister, Dr. Wyn Crowne, ladies and gentlemen.”
Rubbing along the leather cuff on my right wrist, I don’t dare look up along the balcony. Instead, I gaze down into the crowd, eyes locked on the man who has a teasing look in his eyes and his arms crossed as he waits.
“Dealer’s choice,” Jo explains on the mic, as if the drunk crowd are her eager students, “simply means, the bartender can pour whatever they want, however they want, and the recipient has to take it.” Stevie cups her hands in front of her mouth and shouts, “Make it count, Wynnie!”
I spot one of Julian’s tattoos peeking out from the neckline of his dark shirt and decide immediately what concoction to make for him.
Stevie jumps down from the bar top, snagging a couple of orders, skating behind me. “Call out what you need, Wynnie, and I’ll grab it for you.”
“The unmarked bottle with the dried orange wheel and rhubarb,” I say, pointing to Birdie’s homemade Aperol-style liquor, then call out the remaining bottles.
I settle my ass on the bar in front of him, trying not to mirror the smile he's giving me.
“Crowne,” he says, stepping between my legs, and I can immediately feel the warmth of him. His broad body forces them wider, and the cutoff shorts I decided on ride up high on my thighs. “You heard the woman, make it count.”
Trying to ignore how my stomach flutters, I lean back, reaching for the silver cocktail shaker. Before I tilt too far and lose my balance, Julian’s hands grip the sides of my thighs, bracing and holding me in place.
“Looks like your sisters talked you into bartending after all,” he says. And I don’t know why that observation—which is very true, I might add—pisses me off.
“I’m surprised to see you...still in Rumor...in this bar,” I challenge. Leaning closer, allowing my cheek to brush along his, the scratch of his beard and the warmth of his body nearly make my pulse careen off its cliff. “I would imagine it’s frowned upon in your line of work to return to the scene of a crime.”
He chuckles, and it’s way too sexy. “They all keep telling me you’re the smart one,” he answers sarcastically as he looks down, just north of where he’s holding me. The way that I moved caused my cropped shirt to rise a little too high. I flinch, trying to right the hem before anyone can see the marred skin along my left side.Dammit. It’s not the fact that I have imperfections that makes me overtly aware of what’s there, it’s knowing that having a scar like mine will cause questions that need an explanation.
Julian’s attention stays locked on where the shirt lifted for an extra moment—he doesn’t look away or give me a sympathetic smile. Instead, when his eyes lift to mine, his curiosity feels as if it’s laced with something more aggressive, maybe even angry at what and who caused it.
His grip on me pulses tighter, and when he leans in, it somehow silences the noise around us. He doesn’t say a word, his lips brushing against my skin, ghosting the racing pulse point below my ear. The lightness of it sends a rolling thrill from the tips of my fingers to the very center of me. It billows out, making it crystal clear that my body craves to be touched and teased by him again. “Stop asking questions that you already know the answer to, Crowne.”
I hate that he has no issue calling me out. He made it pretty clear already that he wasn’t leaving just yet. The truth is, I want to hear him say it, and I want to know his reasoning.
“Spell it out for me,” rushes past my lips. But a bottle thuds down on the bar to my right, and another immediately follows, cutting off whatever Julian was about to say.
Stevie rolls up behind me. “Let’s go, Wynnie. Let’s show Julian how we do things in Rumor.”
Nerves swirl in my stomach, but I ignore them as Julian pulls back, creating just enough space between us. His words still linger the same way as his hands that remain on the sides of my thighs. Thumbs moving slowly back and forth against my skin, they sooth and tease just beneath the hem of my already hiked-up shorts. When I meet his gaze again, he mouths,You okay?
