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“Well, I do believe I have just what you need.” He winked at Josie then sauntered down to the other end of the bar to earn an extra zero on his tip.
Eh, who could blame him? It wasn't as if Josie didn't do the same thing with the poker players. Scratch that. She used to do the same thing. Now she was an underemployed waitress with only one job, a perv loan shark circling her for forty K and a brother in the wind.
Josie twirled the skinny brown straw in her second gimlet and the ice cubes clinked against the glass. She planned on savoring this one, as it would likely be her last frivolous purchase for the foreseeable future. Tomorrow, she'd track down Cy, pick up as many extra shifts at the diner as she could and put a listing for her car on Craigslist. After that…well…she didn't have the energy to think about it but that's what family did, they saved each other when the situation called for it. She'd find a way.
The stool next to her slid back.
Except for her, Mike and the bachelorette party, the entire bar held nothing but empty chairs. Yet someone had to pick the barstool right next to her? She really was not in the mood to deal with a chatty tourist right now.
Determined to wallow alone in her own misery for at least one more gimlet, she
kept her head down and her body turned slightly away.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she watched Mr. Tall Drink of Water from the poker room sit down.
Her heart started doing jumping jacks and, all of a sudden, hanging out alone feeling sorry for herself lost much of its appeal. Josie's pulse jackhammered in her throat and she squirmed on her barstool. Keeping her face angled down, she used her peripheral vision to scope him out. Tall. Strong without being a musclebound goon. Light reddish-brown hair worn long enough to show the beginnings of a slight wave. He smiled her way and her cheeks blazed at being caught.
“You okay after what happened?”
His voice slid across her skin like warm, poisonous honey, dangerous but oh so sweet.
And, poof, gone was her vodka-induced acceptance of her current no-win situation. Anxiety and anger one-two punched her in the solar plexus as hard as she'd whacked Snips with the serving tray.
“Perfectly fine. Getting felt up by the gamblers is just one of the many perks of being a drink bunny.”
“Sounds like a shitty job.”
She snorted and picked up her glass, its condensation cooling her palm. Sure, it was a craptastic job, but the tips were huge and she needed to make bank fast.
“Was a shitty job. And since jobs are just so plentiful around here, I won't have any problem finding another,” Josie said, sarcasm thick in her tone. She gulped back a swallow, the clear liquid burning down her throat. As drawn to this stranger as she was, another in a short string of one-night stands wasn't a good idea tonight. Her emotions lay too close to the surface, bubbling and threatening to overflow.
“Good for you for quitting.”
“Oh, I didn't quit. They fired me.”
“Fired you?” His voice dropped an octave, becoming deadly serious.
“Correction. They declined to accept my change of heart about my resignation. Tonight was supposed to be my last night, but then my world went to hell and I realized I had to keep my two awful waitressing jobs, beg for overtime and give up my dream, all to fix Cy's mess. Brothers, they really can make your life hell sometimes.” Josie sucked in a shaky breath, realizing too late she was about two seconds from crying in front of a total stranger about the shit pit her life had become.
Forget talking to Mike later, she needed to beat feet before she turned into a blubbering mess in public. She hopped off the stool, swiped her backpack off the floor and tried her best to level her voice. “Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dumped all over you, it's just been…well, you know what it's been.”
Trying to salvage her shredded pride, Josie took two steps toward the door before a hand on her shoulder stopped her. His heat seeped into her, sparking a trail of fire from his thumb on her shoulder blade to the juncture of her thighs. Josie turned and faced him.
“I'm Sam Layton. Why don't you let me buy you a drink?”
Mesmerized by the golden hazel of his heavily hooded eyes, she could only nod her assent. Dangerous territory ahead, her sense of self-preservation counseled, but she ignored the warning.
Sam couldn't let her walk out now even if Rebecca's Bounty had been laid out in his hotel room. The draw was immediate and undeniable, but that didn't mean it was logical or close to typical behavior for him.
His type ran quiet; academic women with hair pulled tight and shirts buttoned to the throat. Women whose most passionate outbursts came during faculty meetings at Cather College about publishing requirements for tenure. Neither he nor his dates stuck out in the crowd like this platinum Amazon.
The mixed scent of amber and orange wafted around her, teasing his senses. Without thinking about why, he scooted his barstool closer to hers when she sat back down.
“Josie Winarsky.” Her gray eyes stared into him. His face must have reflected his inner confusion because her Ferrari-red lips curled into a smile. “My name, it's Josie.”
“Like the song?”
She shook her head, sending the fat curls that fell to her chin waving. “Oh, I hate that song.”
