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Chapter One
“Uh . . . hello? Ma’am? Can I get some help over here?”
Blowing out a breath, I ignored the man standing on the other side of the bar—standing, might I add, shoulder-to-shoulder with dozens of other patrons who’d been waiting patiently for a drink much longer than him. He’d sidled up to the wooden countertop only minutes ago, and if he thought he was going to get my attention that quickly, he was sorely mistaken.
Focusing on the task at hand, I added Crown Royal, apple schnapps, and cranberry juice to my ice-filled stainless steel mixer before capping the top and shaking the contents around. The cold mixer dripped with condensation from the ice, and I had to wipe my hand against my thigh before I could pop the cap back off. The sticky-sweet smell of the apple schnapps wafted through my nose, and I wondered if my own sticky-sweet treat would be stopping by tonight. I hadn’t seen Charlea in almost a week, hadn’t felt her soft curves beneath my hands in too many nights—and after another busy shift like this one, I needed to blow off some steam.
Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t heard from Charlea at all since the last time I saw her. Which was . . . five days ago? And even though I’d told her—repeatedly—that my interest in her was of a strictly non-exclusive nature, I’d gotten used to her texts every day. She’d become a real friend. Just . . . with some sexy benefits.
Shit. I hoped she was okay. Making a mental note to text her when things slowed down, I poured the Washington Apple shots into three glasses and pushed them in front of a birthday girl and her two friends.
“Ohmigod!” Birthday Girl squealed as she tucked her shot close to her chest. “I love theeeese.” Her lime green birthday sash was backward and falling off her shoulder, reflecting offensively under the neon pink lights that swirled around the bar in time with the dizzying beat of the music.
I frowned, looking at the friend closest to her with narrowed eyes. “How drunk is she?” I asked, giving her a look that said Don’t bullshit me.
The friend shrugged. “Drunk enough that this should be her last one?” she answered sheepishly.
I nodded, pushing down the irritability that flared in my chest. This was a bar, after all. People came here to drink. That was good, right? More money in my pocket, that’s for sure. “Yeah, I’d say so. I’ll bring you ladies your tab. You have a ride home?”
The other friend chimed in. “Yep! I just texted Rosie’s brother,” she nodded toward Birthday Girl. “He’s on his way.”
I nodded again, and that should have been the end of it. I didn’t know these girls, and I wasn’t responsible for them. I should be able to trust that they were capable of getting themselves home. But still, I couldn’t resist the next question from spilling out of my mouth. “This brother of hers . . . he’s sober tonight? You guys will be safe?”
Both of Rosie’s friends nodded vigorously from where they stood on either side of her. “Oh yeah,” the first one said, “he’s been waiting at home for our call to pick us up. We’re solid.”
All three of them stared at me as I mulled over their response. And I realized they hadn’t taken their shots yet, that I was inadvertently interrupting their fun with my . . . “mothering,” as Frank called it. “Let me grab your tab,” I repeated as I turned around to face the small computer behind me.
I navigated through the touch-screen system to find and print their tab, and heard Man Child’s voice again from just down the bar. “Yo! Could you please slide that fine ass down this way when you’re done? Jesus . . . I don’t want to keep begging for a fucking drink.” This time I let my eyes snap to him, taking in the rogue blonde curl falling into blue eyes surrounded by thick, long lashes.
He was . . . pretty. But I knew those good looks were trouble. He probably lived a charmed life with easy access to most of the things he wanted—typical, really, for a lot of the guys who came in here, used to being fed by a silver spoon. They expected instant gratification after throwing out a Please and a sultry wink. But at my bar, that kind of shit didn’t fly.
Larkspur was a busy downtown nightclub that hosted hundreds of people on any given night, and tonight was our monthly ladies’ night event that only made things crazier. The club was swarming with women who got to enjoy free cover at the door and discounted drinks. And where there were women, men would come—they never seemed to mind having to pay to get in. Even with three bartenders behind the bar, we were more than outnumbered.
“I see you,” I called back to him with a firm tone. “I’ll get there when I can.”
His eyes narrowed as he scoffed. “What the hell does a guy have to do to get a beer in this place?”
Rolling my eyes, I ignored his childlike display of impatience and turned back to Rosie and her friends, sliding their tab toward them. Rosie looked up at me—well, her gaze made it up to my chin—and said, “Thank you for making this the best birthday ever.”
I smiled. “I literally didn’t do anything. But thanks?”
Each of her friends slipped a credit card into the book and pushed it back to me. “Can you split it down the middle?”
I nodded. “Sure thing.” Turning back to the computer, I nearly ran into my newest bartender. “Shit, sorry!”
Nora looked at me over her shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s so fucking busy tonight, Mar.”
She was a special kind of freak who thrived on being in the weeds. It was one of the reasons she’d quickly soared right up my list of favorites—especially considering that, until she started working here, she’d never bartended a night in her life. “You doing okay?” I asked.
“Hell yes!” she yelled before booking it back to her end of the bar.
I laughed at her bizarre excitement, closed out the tab for the birthday girl and her friends, then brought their receipts back to them. Just as I turned to greet a smiling couple and ask them for their order, the gremlin shouted out again. “For fuck’s sake, woman, I have money I’m trying to spend!”
The man and woman standing in front of me frowned at the attention-seeking display of testosterone leaning on the bar ten feet away. I looked back at the couple and whispered an apology, putting a finger up to indicate I’d be right back.
I turned to my right and made eye contact with Frank, our head of security. We had guys stationed all over the club, but Frank always took the position at the end of the bar, keeping watch over all transactions. I gave a little head-jerk to the side, toward my current bane of existence—a sign he knew well. He nodded, pushing off the wall to head this way.
Frank was our head of security for a reason. He may have a handsome, boy-next-door face, but he also had a body like a linebacker and a mean streak when it counted. I watched as his eyes scanned the rowdy patrons, readying himself for anything.
