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He chuckles. "Wasn't me. I just came so he didn't completely embarrass you."
My brows furrow for a second before it hits me. I grumble under my breath and turn to face my roommate. She's looking down at the ground and pretending she doesn’t know I’m looking at her.
"Kennedy," I say sweetly.
She picks her head up with an innocent grin. "Yes?"
"Did you tell Easton about us working here?"
"No," she answers.
"Kennedy."
"Yes."
I throw the towel in my hand at her and groan. "Why would you do that?"
She exhales with a pout. "It's those eyes, I swear. It's all his fault. Not mine. He forced it out of me."
"You told him so he'd come see you looking like a hot bartender, didn't you?" I say dryly.
Zayn chuckles behind me as Kennedy's grin widens. "Can you really blame me?"
"Yes," Zayn and I answer in unison.
Our gazes lock for a second, but the intensity of it, and the way he's looking at me, causes me to turn away. A customer steps up to the bar, and I give him my undivided attention.
"Welcome to Hypnotic," I greet him. "What can I get you?"
He looks me up and down before licking his lips. "Your number, for starters."
Ew. This guy has to be in his mid-fifties, and it's not like I look much older than my age. His gray hair is thinning, and the suit he's wearing doesn't do anything to help his case. Nor does the plaid tie.
"That's not on the menu, but I'll be happy to get you a drink," I respond politely.
Not taking no for an answer, he purses his lips. "You sure? I'd pay a lot of money for a night with a girl like you."
"You couldn't afford me."
He grins, but it's more of a leer. "Try me."
I take a breath and grip the edge of the counter discreetly. "Sir, with all due respect, I'm not a prostitute, and I'm not interested in becoming your sugar baby."
"Aw, come on, babe. Don't be so stuck up." He tries to reach across the bar, but I step back.
"Stuck up?" I balk. "Because I don't want to sleep with you?"
He loosens his tie and unbuttons part of his shirt to reveal some of his chest hair. "You and I could have a lot of fun together."
Zayn slams his beer down on the bar and gets up. He takes a couple steps toward the man and leans in, whispering in his ear. I don't know what he's saying, but I watch as the guy's eyes widen and before I know it, he's muttering an apology and scurrying away.
"What did you say to him?"
Zayn shrugs and sits back down. "Don't worry about it."
"Amelia, can you help me grab some more glasses from the back?" calls McKaylah, a fellow bartender.
"Sure."
