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I looked away quickly, focusing back on the menu. But I couldn’t pay attention, didn’t even know what I was reading, didn’t even care. I could still feel him watching me, an awareness that was almost like a sixth sense. It had tingles racing up and down my arms, and I felt my nipples harden painfully against my top.
I glanced down at my T-shirt, the one that had Lyrics embroidered in dark-green thread stitched in the upper left-hand corner. And sure enough, the peaks stabbed through the material. My face felt hot, and I quickly looked up, glancing around to make sure no one saw me looking at my breasts.
I felt that feeling of being watched subside and took a chance to look over at where Bishop had been standing. He was no longer there, and I exhaled, not feeling relief but still as if this weight had been dispersed. It was strange that he had this effect on me, but powerful nonetheless.
“I wonder why he bartends when he owns the place,” I murmured idly to myself.
“Because he’s a hands-on guy. I’m pretty sure he thinks no one can make the drinks as well as he can.”
I snapped my focus to where Pyper stood, cutting up limes and lemons.
“I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.” I gave her what I was pretty sure was the most awkward smile she’d ever seen, but she chuckled softly and shook her head in that way people did that meant it really was no big deal.
“I wondered the same thing when I started working here. Heck, if I owned a bar, working the floor would be the last thing I’d do. Although he works hard behind the scenes too.” She pointed to a sheet of paper that read in bold letters Nightly Drink Specials that was tacked to a corkboard behind the bar. “Every week he changes these. They are drinks he creates, and I swear that’s why half the customers come here—well, also for the kick-ass music and atmosphere.” She shrugged again and put the cut-up limes in a plastic container. “Everyone loves him. He’s real down to earth.”
I felt my face once again get hot as I remembered our last one-on-one interaction. He had been so easy to talk to, easy enough that I’d been totally honest on why I needed the job. Some places would have scoffed at my candor. I mean, they wanted to know you applied to their place because you just had to work there, right? But I felt so comfortable around Bishop that I’d just been honest. And he’d liked that. He looked so damn pleased with what I’d said, in fact.
Pyper was pulled away by the other waiter who worked the floor on the weekends. They told me Saturdays and Sundays were always jam-packed and the time would fly because I’d be constantly moving. I was banking on that to help keep my mind off other things.
Before I knew it, the bar was open and customers were filing in. I hadn’t seen Bishop again before that, but once we were open, he’d been behind the bar sliding drinks so fast it was a little shocking—and impressive.
I was an hour into my shift, and so far I hadn’t screwed anything up—well, not too terribly. And with only sixty minutes in, my tips were pretty substantial, and I was feeling a little less stressed and a lot more hopeful that things would be okay.
As hour after hour passed, I found my groove, and things went pretty seamlessly. I rattled off the specials like I’d worked here my whole life, was confident when people asked what drinks or appetizers I suggested. This may have been my first night, but when I’d come here those couple of times, I remembered how delicious everything had been.
I went to the bar to put in the next order, a smile on my face because I was feeling pretty incredible. But as I waited for Bishop to finish up with his current order, I told myself not to stare at him. I’d been so busy since we opened that keeping to that vow hadn’t been hard—well, except when I had to put orders in; then I found myself watching him with feminine appreciation.
I stared straight ahead, but of course my attraction to Bishop was so intense my eyes wandered to him before I could stop myself, like he was some kind of magnet, and denying the pull wasn’t even feasible.
He wore the same outfit he’d been in when he was leaning against the doorframe of his office and staring at me, aside from the fact that he’d swapped out his gray T-shirt and now sported the same white one all employees at Lyrics had on. His baseball cap was also gone, and his short dark hair looked almost black in the dim lighting of the bar. The shadows and neon bar lighting made him look tanner than he really was, and my heart kicked into overdrive when he grinned at something someone said and that sexy-as-hell dimple popped out in his cheek.
