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“What’s up?” Marcus says.
Bernie introduces Reed and his friends, and explains that Josh used to work here many moons ago. “Reed wants to see Josh behind the bar again, for old time’s sake. So, he’s offered to pay for everyone’s drinks until closing—at double our usual prices, just in case Josh is rusty.” Bernie grins at Marcus and me. “He’s going to tip each of you four hundred bucks, since you’re both unexpectedly getting the boot for the rest of the night.”
“The boot?” Marcus asks.
“You’re off the clock,” Bernie says. “Stick around and play pool or go home. Whatever you want. You’re getting paid not to work.”
“Wow, that’s generous,” I say, my eyes locked with Reed’s. Holy hell, he’s looking at me like I’m a sizzling steak on a plate, and he’s a man with a fork and sharp knife. I keep my tone prim and proper. “Thank you, Mr. Rivers.”
Reed smirks. “My pleasure, Georgina.”
Bernie nudges Josh’s arm. “I’ll work alongside you, in case you’ve lost a step since your glory days. Come on.”
“Lost a step?” Josh says playfully, following Bernie behind the bar. “I’m still in my prime, old man.”
Laughing, the two men shoo Marcus and me out of the well, while Reed’s other friend, the nerdy one, takes a stool. And, suddenly, I find myself standing on the customers’ side of the bar with Marcus and Reed. Which isn’t awkward at all.
Marcus looks suspicious as he assesses Reed. “I assume you did this because you’re trying to impress Georgie.”
“Marcus!” I say, shocked.
Marcus looks at me, his eyes blazing. “He’s been ogling you all night, Georgie. Even when he’s supposedly been playing pool, he hasn’t stopped peeking at you.”
My body zings with arousal, which is probably not the result Marcus was going for. Well, well, well. As I’ve been covertly ogling Reed from across the bar, he’s been covertly ogling me?
Marcus turns to Reed. “I don’t know who you are, but Georgina isn’t going to fall at your feet, just because you’re tossing out hundred-dollar bills like candy. Georgie’s smart. Special. She’s worth a hundred of the women you’re probably used to picking up in bars by flashing your money clip.”
“Marcus, stop,” I say, putting my hand on his forearm. “I appreciate you looking out for me, but I don’t need your protection this time. Truthfully, I’ve been ogling Reed all night, too. And not because of his money clip, but because we had great chemistry when we talked.”
Marcus looks crestfallen. A knight toppled from his horse. The good guy, once again, not getting the girl.
My heart aching for Marcus, I turn to Reed. “Marcus is right about one thing, though. Your penchant for throwing around hundred-dollar bills is a bit much. Thank you for your generosity tonight. We both appreciate it. But if you keep throwing big money at me, I’m going to start wondering if you think I’m a stripper, rather than a bartender—which isn’t something I want to be wondering.”
Reed bites back a smile. “Sorry if I’ve offended you. Money was really tight for me in college. I waited tables and counted my lucky stars whenever I got a big tip. I just wanted to pay it forward.”
Oh.
Well.
That was a pretty nice response.
And now I feel like an ungrateful bitch.
“Oh, yeah, thank you again,” I say lamely. “Like I said, Marcus and I both appreciate your generosity a lot.” I glare at Marcus, feeling annoyed he pushed me into making that embarrassing speech. “Right, Marcus? Reed has been incredibly generous, and we both appreciate it.”
Marcus presses his lips together, clearly pissed.
I pat Marcus’s shoulder. “I’m good, okay? I’m going to head off to enjoy this unexpected time off now. You should do the same.”
Marcus looks heartbroken, but, after visibly recalibrating, he tells me to have a good time and stalks away with his big tips and unexpected two hours off.
“Are you two more than friends?” Reed asks.
“No.”
“Much to his disappointment, I’m sure.” He rubs his hands together. “But enough about him. Are you ready to head to my castle now, Cinderella? The clock has struck midnight, and your carriage—”
“Georgie!”
Oh, for the love of fuck, what now?
I turn around and palm my forehead. It’s Bryce McKellar. The football star and Cling-on. The momma’s boy who supposedly started believing in love at first sight when he saw me. He’s here. And striding toward me with a bright smile on his face.
“Bryce,” I gasp out, my heart rate spiking. “What are you doing here?”
Bryce hugs my stiff body. “You said you were working tonight, so I came by to say hi. I thought we could hang out when you get off.”
I bristle. Bryce already asked me to hang out after work tonight, when I bumped into him on-campus, and I told him it wasn’t going to work out. But he came here, anyway?
