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“You know them. You know them, and you didn’t think to lure them away from The Penalty Box to my fine establishment.”
“Chad, come on. They’re not dogs. You can’t offer them a bone and expect them to follow.” He arched a brow at that, and I almost choked on the breath I inhaled. “You know what I mean.”
“Give them anything they want. Give them the best seats in the house and keep the drinks rolling. Oh, and take them some snacks.”
“Snacks?”
What the hell was happening right now?
“Chad, I don’t think—”
“Don’t screw this up for me, Dixie. I’m already pissed you didn’t tell me you knew them.”
“Don’t you think—”
“Go. Help Kalvin behind the bar.”
“But I’m a server.”
“And now you’re my new bartender.” He flashed me a menacing smile that turned my blood cold.
Chad Redford wasn’t a bad guy per se; he just wasn’t a nice guy. As a ruthless business owner, he cared more about profit than anything else. But I needed the money, so I couldn’t afford to piss him off.
“Dixie,” Connor called with a knowing twinkle in his eyes. “Get your cute ass over here.”
But I didn’t beeline toward them. I slipped around the bar ignoring him and cast Kalvin a weak smile. “Need a hand?”
“This is new,” he murmured, tipping his head toward the Lakers players gathered at the bar. “Friends of yours?”
I shrugged. “You could say that.”
“I bet Chad is jerking off to—”
“Oh my God, don’t say that. Now I’m thinking… ew.Ew!”
Laughter rumbled in his chest. “Come on. Let’s serve them before they start growling and throwing things.”
Kalvin was a senior at Lakeshore U, but he didn’t run in the same circles as the athletes. He was an artist. A creative type. One of the few people I’d met here who didn’t worship the ground the team walked on.
“Okay, guys, what can we get you?” I asked, flashing them my best ‘Welcome to Millers’ smile.
“Six bottles of Heineken and whatever the girls are having,” Connor slapped some bills down on the counter.
“Actually, I’ll have a Jack and Coke,” Mason said.
“You sure that’s a good idea?” Connor frowned, narrowing his eyes at his friend.
“Something tells me I’m going to need it.” Mason’s cool gaze flashed to mine, and everything turned to ice inside me.
I wanted to disappear. To turn around and leave. But I had a shift to finish.
“Am I sensing some tension here?” Connor glanced between us, his brow arching with amusement.
“Nope. No. I’ll make a start on the girls’ drinks,” I hurried away, my heart fit to bursting out of my chest.
Mason Steele was… well, he was an asshole. Arrogant. Brooding. Aloof. He rarely cracked a smile, keeping his circle tight and his focus one hundred percent on hockey.
And I’d made the stupid mistake of trying to break the ice between us Friday night.
