The redhead he’s with snorts into his drink, clearly enjoying the show.
I breathe through the irritation chipping away at me. “Coming up.”
My small act of revenge comes when I take my time refilling their glasses. I return to the bar and busy myself by helping two other customers at the counter.
Let the boxer and his giggling fanboy wait a few minutes.
I’m sure he doesn’t get dismissed often with as many fans as he has. Itmightbuild character.
When I do return with their drinks, my intention is to setthem down and bounce just as quickly. Killian grunts out a question before I’m able to make my escape.
“Where’re you from?” he asks.
“Nowhere interesting.”
“Try me.”
“I’d rather not,” I answer coolly. My gaze flits from him to the redhead and back again. “Anything else? I have other tables.”
The other guy chuckles. “She’s got teeth, this one.”
But Killian’s unamused. His glare hardens as he peers at me as if he’s in the middle of a deep assessment. He’s running some kind of analysis on me, taking in every last detail he can.
Cold dread curls inside my stomach, and I grow a little self-conscious.
In my experience, it’s never a good thing when men stare at you for too long…
“What’s your name?” he asks next.
“‘You—new girl’ suffices.”
Red chokes on his whiskey, trying to hold in his laugh, while Killian scowls, the muscle in his broad jaw clenching.
“You always this friendly? Or is it just me?”
I give a quick shrug, keeping my expression flat. “Don’t know. Do you always interrogate your servers, or is it just me?”
Killian’s mouth twitches, though whether it’s from amusement like his friend or more irritation, I’m not sure.
I really don’t give a damn either way.
“Just close my tab, alright?” he mutters.
I pivot on my heel and march off, relieved for an excuse to put distance between us.
Over the next hour, I’m lucky enough to avoid Killian and the other Callahan soldier.
Closing time inches closer, and Tom herds the last of the stragglers toward the door. The old-timers grumble butcomply, shuffling out into the Brooklyn night ruddy faced and halfway drunk.
Killian’s one of the last to go. His broad frame fills out the doorway before he disappears into the dark. The redhead trails behind him, still grinning wide and chuckling about something.
Good riddance.
Tom tosses me a set of keys as he tears off his waist apron. “Lock up when you’re done. Alarm code’s taped under the register if you forget.”
“Got it.”
He pauses at the door, one hand on the frame. For a second it seems he’s about to offer more words—maybe a warning or another question about the cot situation in the stockroom. Instead he simply nods and steps into the night.
