Page 27 of The Other Half

A stripper? Now I really questioned my red mini-dress while I stood in the rustic bar. Sure, I would have fit in at any club in New York, Paris, or Milan, but the way they were looking at me had me ready to turn and bolt back home to change.

“Wow,” Jo said, shaking her head. “Are you planning on working in that?”

Biting my lip, I nodded. “Um, yeah. I guess maybe it’s a little much?”

“A little much? It’s a little... little!” She snorted.

Trying to force the blush from my cheeks I stood while they drank in every inch of the view this tight dress and plunging neckline offered them.

“Should I go change?” I asked, my confidence faltering to zero. Dressing like a runway model for a locals’ bar was such a stupid idea. I’d have to add it to the list of my previous stupid ideas topped by that time I almost got arrested in Tijuana last year.

“No time. Happy hour starts in five. Just try not to break a heel. Or a leg.” Jo gestured to my stilettos.

Feeling only an inch tall, even though I soared above her in these shoes, I walked behind the bar with her. Another slow graze over my outfit and she shook her head.

“You’re something else,” she said with a chuckle. “At least we’ll make great tips. I may have to reconsider my own choice of footwear.”

The door opened, and more locals filed in. One by one they slid to a stop when they saw me. A couple came in together and the woman took one look at me, then at her gawking husband, and dragged him out by the arm. Even though I’d felt like I could own any club in the world when I’d left my cabin, I now wanted to crawl into the beer cooler and stay there until my shift ended.

With no time to feel sorry for myself, I jumped into action as quickly as my heels would let me go. Jo called out the beer she needed, and I realized in an instant how difficult tonight would be trying to keep my ass covered while I pulled beer out of the below knee level coolers. This dress was made for standing and being appreciated, not a night spent bending and squatting. Cursing myself for not thinking this through, I tried to squat down while tugging at the bottom of my skirt with one hand and pulling out a beer with the other. As I looked behind me, I saw the neck of every man at the bar craning and their wide eyes staring at my ass. Each one looked ready to fall over the bar they were trying so hard to vie for a better look.

When I stood up without revealing the ass cheeks my lace thong would reveal, a long-conjoined groan rumbled through them.

“It’s going to be a long night,” Jo said while she blew past to deliver another drink.

After an hour of teetering on my too-tall heels and trying not to flash the bar every time I bent down into the coolers, the bar was still packed, but Jo and I had caught up. While she chatted up the locals, I slid a wet rag down the bar and wiped up the rings left behind by glasses. The door opened, and I looked up. Even beneath his hat with his head dipped low, I saw a flash of those blue eyes.

Jake.

He made his way through the small crowd and up to the bar. Only one stool remained open, the same one he’d been in last night. When he slid onto it, I wondered if he’d lain an unspoken claim to that particular stool, since there was an unspoken rule this was his bar.

“Hey, Jake,” Jo said, and I wondered how the hell she could act so calm around him. Granted they’d known each other since they were kids, but I didn’t think any woman could ever get used to being in a room with him without turning into a puddle of mush.

“Hey, Jo,” he answered, then his eyes moved to me. His eyebrows shot to his hairline when he saw me, then he dropped his gaze back to the bar. “Hey, Cassie.”

The confidence I thought this outfit would help me project came out as a whisper. “Hi, Jake. Whiskey and coke?”

“Yep.” His eyes seemed to burn through the bar while he kept them forced down, when every cell in my body demanded that he look up.

That he see me.

Closing my eyes and wishing I could click my heels three times and go home, I waltzed my Manolo’s over to the ice bin and filled up his drink. When I delivered it to him, he didn’t even peek through the fringe of his eyelashes.

“This one’s on me. Thanks again for fixing my car. I really appreciate it.”

“Yep.” His eyes remained glued to the dark stain beside his glass.

“You fixed her car?” Jo asked, as she dropped a drink to the man beside him.

“Uh, yeah,” he answered.

“It broke down last night on my way home. Jake gave me a ride then fixed it this morning for me.”

“He did, did he?” Jo arched a brow and smiled, her gaze darting between us.

“Yeah. It was really amazing of him.”

“It sure was. What a guy. Pretty nice thing you did for her, huh, Jake?”