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My friend snorts. “No offense taken.”
“Um…” I keep my voice steady. “I’m on the clock.”
“Oh, come on, boy toy,” she pouts, not put off in the slightest. “They won’t let you meet new friends?”
As Banjo looks on in fascination, watching how I’ll do handling this woman, she’s insistent, her fingers finding their way back, tracing lazy circles on my chest. I gently remove her hand, forcing a polite smile. “Nope. Job’s a job.”
Her fingers drift toward the fly of my jeans, and I stiffen. “You’re so uptight, sweet young thing. I bet you could use a cougar… and a drink,” she protests, gesturing for the bartender. “Two shots of tequila, Maurice!”
“I don’t drink on the job,” I reply, holding up my hand to refuse the bartender. She appears disgruntled, her lips puckering like she’s tasted something sour. I don’t like the glazed-over look in her eyes. I don’t like her drawing attention to me.
I sure as hell don’t like her touching me.
“Spoilsport,” she mutters under her breath, finally retreating with a roll of her eyes. “You’re not that hot anyway. Get over yourself.”
As she totters back to her table, I catch a glimpse of wide eyes watching from across the room. God, if it wasn’t already bad enough, she saw that whole damn thing. Her ponytail bobs as she flits between tables, an aura of quiet strength around her. For a moment, our gazes lock together, and something like recognition passes between us. A spark, a connection. Unspoken, but undeniably present. Then, she’s swallowed by the crowd, her expression leaving a ghostly imprint on me.
Some women at a nearby table joke about how much money it would take to get in my pants.
“Your fan club seems disappointed,” Banjo chuckles, bringing me back to reality as he thumbs in their direction. “Welcome to the world of bouncing, my friend. An old codger like me doesn’t have to deal with that much. You, on the other hand… just tell ‘em you won’t accept anything less than a million dollars.”
And with a mysterious twinkle in his eye, he turns back toward the double front doors, leaving me with the echoes of a silent conversation with a woman who makes my heart squeeze and a night that’s only just begun. I follow him over there still a bit bemused.
Banjo flicks his wrist. “Now, c’mon. There’s a line forming outside, and I need to get you used to checking IDs. You wouldn’t believe some of the fakes I’ve seen come through here. I keep the real funny ones in a box in my truck.”
I follow him toward the door, scanning the room on the way and trying to remember every face. I want to focus on the job and use it to push away all of my other thoughts for the next six to eight hours. I need to forget about my neighbor with the warm smile who hardens my dick into granite and not think about her dumpster fire of an ex-boyfriend, or Joel, or my parents, or why I moved up to Frostvale in the first place. I’m supposed to be starting clean.
Too bad I keep seeing her lips when I close my eyes.
Chapter Three
Elowyn
“Did any of y’all talk to that new bouncer?” Allie gushes, pushing a tiny bite of waffle around in a pool of syrup with her fork. She’s got one hell of a sweet tooth, always putting mountains of sugar in her coffee and far too much syrup on her breakfast for my taste. At this rate, she’s gonna be visiting my pharmacist dad at the store as the town’s youngest type II diabetic. “Chiseled jawline. Broody eyes. Tight ass. He’s hot AF, right? It’s not just me?”
I hide my face in my glass of orange juice, mumbling a response. “I guess. I didn’t really notice.”
Hopefully, they’ll take my denial as having more to do with my last break-up than anything else. I should’ve learned my lesson then to never get involved with a coworker. I sure as hell can’t go there again. As I take another sip, I mentally shake my head. Truth is, I more than noticed. Every thought. Every heartbeat. The hitch in my breath. The pulse in my temples. The ache between my legs.
For the first few hours of my shift, it was beyond awkward. I kept finding myself watching my sexy neighbor without realizing it, drifting around in a half-focused daze. I walked clean into a stool at one point imagining licking the outline of all of his tattoos. And wondering if he has even more that I can’t see. Thanks to those damn sweatpants, I already know he has one huge thing I could lick. Not that I want to. I’ve never really been about servicing a man. Because Jesse? That’s what he always made me feel like in every intimate moment. Like I was his sex slave. He’d usually force the issue, and when I went down on him willingly, he used that as an open invitation to choke me with his dick until I gagged and my eyes watered.
Thankfully, the stool I accosted only had an empty tray on it and was sitting in a vacant corner of the bar. If Allie had seen me do it, I never would’ve lived it down. I’m so distracted by his presence, I can’t even be sure if he recognized me. I really hope that he didn’t. It would be nice to get a chance to make a first impression on my own terms, rather than from one weird interaction with my overbearing sisters.
The whole night passed without us ever getting a chance to talk, and I can’t help but feel like he was avoiding me. Which leaves me feeling more than a little embarrassed. What was I thinking this morning? I saw a guy doing his morning exercises alone and decided that he was lonely and needed me, without even speaking to him. For all I know, he could be fine.
I interrupted him.
I stuck my nose in where it didn’t belong.
And it still doesn’t.
“Oh, he’s more than cute,” coos Loretta from behind her cat-eye glasses. “I wish Banjo hadn’t kept him so close all night. I’d love to get him alone, really sink my claws into him. Judging by the size of the biceps wrapped in that tight t-shirt, I bet he has abs.”
Yup. He totally has abs.
She waves her long turquoise nails in the air when she says it, leaving me and Allie in stitches. Loretta has four kids at home, another son in college, and a husband asleep in the living room recliner as we speak. She isn’t sinking her claws into anything but aSoap Opera Digestand a bottle of cheap rosé anytime soon.
But Loretta is right about Banjo. The new guy never strayed more than ten feet from him all night, even when that drunk woman hit on him. I watched the way he talked to him, too. He was far more open with him than anyone else, letting his guard slip to a point where he seemed human like the rest of us. Sometimes he even looked relaxed, almost bordering on friendly. Something is up with him and Banjo. I’ll have to talk to the older man about it when I get the chance.
