In real life, I’m…
Me.
A guy who’s never broken a single rule in his life.
A guy who got voted “most nice” in my high school senior yearbook, even though I always wondered if that was just a synonym formost boring.
Logan
I am a little tipsy at this point, I admit, but…
Emily
But?
But I’m also pretty sure the bartender has the best hair I’ve ever seen.
What’s she like?
He. And he’s not my type at all. Too young, too many tattoos.
Good. You don’t have time for sex. Interview is confirmed for 4 o’clock, so you have to leave soon with the traffic.
When I glance up at the bartender, he’s leaning over and scrawling in a small red notebook. He’s been doing it any time he gets a free moment, and I’m growing more curious about what’s inside.
His lashes flick up and he catches me staring again.
His eyes rake over my body, and a slow warmth blooms outward from the center of my chest. A lock of his dark hair comes untucked from his ear. He’s definitely attractive, but in a rough way. Like a royal portrait painting of a prince that the artist accidentally made a little bit too angry.
When he stands tall again and nods up at me, I freeze.
“Listen, I don’t know if you want me to fight you or fuck you, but whatever it is, you can just say it,” he tells me. “I’m straight, but I’m flattered either way.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Do you say that to all of your guests?”
“No. I just started last week. I’m not great at this job, if you can’t tell.”
“What were you doing before?”
He shuts his notebook and looks out the window while he talks. “Worked in a coffee bar, a restaurant, and a bakery. But none of that is actually what I want to do.”
“Because you’d rather…?
“I want to be an artist. Iaman artist.”
I nod. “Well, a piece of advice: you probably shouldn’t ask questions like that at any job unless you want to get fired.”
“I’m aware of that. Something told me you wouldn’t mind.”
He doesn’t even attempt to have a filter on anything he tells me. I could be a horrible person, for all he knows.
Too trusting.
“Are those the only options you’re offering?” I ask him. “You fight me or you fuck me?”
He cocks his head to one side. “Or maybe you’d like a third option. Following me around behind the bar. The way I work seems to bother you, and you already can’t stop watching.”
He eyes the stack of coasters and reaches over.
