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I’m throwing together the mix as she yawns and stands up off the stool in the corner. “Need help?”
“No, I’m good.”
She pulls herself up on the stainless island to sit and watch me. “You don’t use a measuring cup or recipe?”
“Don’t need to. It’s all up here.” I tap my temple. “Family recipe.”
“Caldwell secret sauce.” The way she says my name fucks with my brain and makes my dick twitch. Now all I can think is Caldwell secret sauce and how much I want my sauce all over her crazy, pouty, little lips.
“It’s a rub.”
“So, you just use your hands? No gloves or anything?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, I think to myself. “Yeah.”
“I’d like to help.”
I’d like to drag you in the fucking closet, you crazy-ass, sexy, little thing. I think that would help us both. I keep that to myself.
“Wash your hands and come on over here.”
She hops down as I stir up the spices, and then she stands beside me.
“Just grab a handful and rub it around like this.” I show her and she tries, making me laugh. “A little harder than that.” She does it again. “Give me your hand.” I take her hand, turn it over, and sprinkle the dry rub in it. I pull her closer and stand behind her. Then, I turn her hand over and show her how to properly rub beef.
She looks over her shoulder, holds up her other hand, and smiles. “Both hands like you did?”
I nod, and then she starts rubbing the beef with her other hand, as well, but she is not doing it hard enough again. So, taking both of her hands in mine, I help her rub down the beef.
The grit of the rub between our hands only adds to the sensation of my body pressed to hers, her hands in mine, and a table keeping her firmly in place. I am close enough to smell lavender and her clean, natural scent, and now I am half-mast.
I try to steady my heartbeat and close my eyes. When I open them, she’s staring at me from over her shoulder, her mouth slightly open. She leans against me a little as her head tips up more, and I can’t take it anymore. I lean in, ready to give her what she’s asking for.
Just as I am about to give in to both our desires, I freeze, hearing before seeing Jagger laughing his ass off from the kitchen doorway.
Fuck!
Chapter Twelve
I jump back against Hendrix and swear I feel it. It! His thingy poking me in the back. It makes me laugh, which makes Jagger laugh even harder. I decide an explanation is necessary.
“Hendrix is teaching me how to do the rub.”
“I see that,” he says, wiping his eyes. “He told me how to rub meat, too, but never showed me.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Jagger; what’re you doing here?” Hendrix growls from behind me. I look back as he steps away from me to adjust his … thingy.
“You said you wanted me to back her up tonight. Guess you got that all under control. And while you two are back here rubbing and shit, you have a bar full of people and Sally needs a hand—”
“Oh, dear Lord,” I say, pulling the bar rag out of Hendrix’s hands. His eyes squint a bit as I wipe off my hands and toss it back to him before heading to the bar where I see a usual customer who I have guessed is Hendrix’s friend.
“You’re early, Jared,” I say as I put his draft down in front of him.
“Hendrix not around?”
“He’s cooking,” I answer, pouring his shot.
He looks a little disoriented. He’s used to Hendrix or Sally taking care of him. They interact so well with him. He’s a bit standoffish.
“Do you have a joke for me?” I ask with a smile.
“That’s not how it works,” he groans and takes a drink.
“What is Bruce Lee’s favorite drink?”
He looks at me like I’m crazy.
“Wataaah,” I say while doing a fake karate chop.
He takes another drink and sits back silently, reminding me I am a terrible joke teller.
While he stares at me, I begin to feel pretty dang stupid. I am ready to apologize when he laughs so loud everyone in the bar looks at him. I immediately start laughing along, because his laugh is so over the top that I can’t help myself.
“Is everything all right?” Hendrix walks out from the back to stand beside me.
“She’s a keeper,” Jared says with a chuckle as he wipes tears away.
Morrison and Jagger come up beside us, too.
“Well, shit, Livi,” Mr. Slick laughs. “What did you say to him?”
“Our secret,” Jared deadpans as he looks at Morrison.
“You gonna spill it, Livi? I can’t get this son-of-a-bitch to laugh for nothing.”
“Like he said”—I wink at Jared—“it’s a secret.”
Two hours later, the bar is packed, and I am actually enjoying myself. With Jared now making me feel comfortable, along with two of the locals who come in every Friday night smiling when they see me, I feel like this place is part of my home now, too, exactly like Hendrix said they all feel.
