Nothing could happen.
Nothingwouldhappen.
I simply wanted to make him regret being such an overbearing and condescending asshole.
If he wasn’t interested in me, that was fine. I could handle rejection. What I refused to handle was someone trying to tell me what I wanted. What was best for me. What I was allowedto have. For whatever reason, Rhys thought he had the right to make decisions for me when what he actually had was a lot of audacity.
And a lot of karma coming to smack him in the head.
I wasn’t being stupid or anything. My priority was my work.
But part of said work included being his girlfriend. And I decided to really immerse myself as a method actress.
Friday night had been a fun time. Informative, too. Rhys had made it clear that he liked my legs, so I’d set aside the looser style jeans I usually wore and switched to flares that hugged my hips and thighs. What I hadn’t known was he would split his time staring at my legs and the hint of cleavage my top showed.
He was a thighandbreasts man.
As were a lot of the customers, if my increased tips were any indication. I would be more skeeved out by it if those funds weren’t going to be split between the other bartenders once I was done. They deserved it.
Saturday was shaping up to be even better for my tipsandmy torture thanks to a new scooped-neck crop that showed titsandtummy and a different pair of tight jeans.
I wasn’t sure if it was working or if I was just providing some curvy scenery to pass the time.
Or maybe I was being immature and petty—both of which validated his viewpoint that I was too young for him.
That was fine. I was good with being annoying, too.
I wasn’t the only one.
The customer in front of me was a talker—and not the fun kind. He was good enough looking that he could probably get a better conversation going with a woman he actually had a shot with, but he would have to shut up to make that happen. He ran his mouth like it was a competition, and he didn’t want there to be any doubt he’d won. Won at life. Won at his job. Won with his connections. Won at winning.
Fake smile in place, I arched my ass out as I fixed a water he hadn’t asked for.
The ass out was in case Rhys was looking, but also because my back hurt from being on my feet. Stretching it felt glorious, and I barely smothered a groan.
The good thing about moving in tomorrow is that his couch is probably made of something other than milk crates and pain. It’ll feel like a cloud compared to my bed.
“That’s amazing,” I said to the guy, even though I’d barely been paying attention to his story about how he’d invested something. Invented something?
He’d done something, and he was very proud of it.
I split my focus between his chatter and scanning around to make sure everyone else was good. And then I bit back a smile when I saw Rhys bypass multiple tablets to use the one nearest me.
“One second,” I said to the man, though I didn’t know if he heard me over the sound of his own voice.
I left anyway, taking the few steps over to where Rhys stood.
He didn’t glance at me. He didn’t say anything. But I caught the way his shoulders quickly bunched at my approach.
“Need something, barman?” I fluttered my lashes up at him. “Or are you lost?”
“I’ve lost something, all right,” he muttered. He sounded so disgruntled that I almost felt bad.
“Eyes not what they used to be? I can help find whatever you’re missing.”
His glare cut to me. “You can help by knocking this shit off.”
“What shit?”
