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“There are several things on offer tonight, but they might not be what you’re looking for.”
“I’m sure there’s something in this bar I’m looking for.” His eyes flash.
“Then you should probably look at the bar instead of the woman serving behind it.”
The twitch in his lips pulls them into a full-fledged smirk. “I’ll try, but I’m not promising anything.”
“Oh, isn’t that the problem,” I mutter, turning to serve another person.
Tyler’s eyes are on me the whole time, following every one of my movements as I pour three pints and hand them to the barely legal co-eds eyeing me up.
“Are you working all night?” one of them asks. He’s built and leaning his elbow on the bar so his bicep flexes.
“I am,” I smile at him flirtatiously.
He winks before turning away with his friends.
I hear a snort from my right and turn back to Tyler. “Have you decided what you’d like to drink tonight, sir?”
“Sir?” he murmurs, rubbing a thumb down his jaw. “Yes. I’ll have bottle of Budweiser, please.”
“Of course.” I walk to the other end of the bar and bend down to grab a bottle from the fridge. I remove the bottle cap and place the bottle in front of Tyler. “Two eighty, please.”
He hands me a five-dollar bill from between his fingers. I snatch it up, turn to the second till, swipe my card, and ring up his beer. I turn to hand him his change and his fingers brush mine as he takes it.
“Thank you,” he says in a low voice.
I nudge the register drawer shut with my hip. “You’re welcome.” I leave him smiling into the top of his bottle and return to Dill. “Another?”
He nods, eyeing Tyler. “Who’s that?”
“That’s the thorn in my side,” I quip, pulling down on the ale handle. “On the tab?”
Dill grunts a yes. “He bothering you, Liv darlin’?”
“Nah, not so much.” I shrug a shoulder. “He’s like one of those little flies you get in the summer. Gnats, is it? Like them, he just won’t go away.” I glance down the bar at Tyler and he grins.
“Bit of bug spray will get rid of those. Course, you’d need a baseball bat for a gnat the size of him.”
“Dill, honey, if it wouldn’t get me arrested, I would have done it before now.” I rap my hand on the bar and glance at the clock. Crap. The about-to-be-engaged couple’s champagne.
I spin and grab a bottle and two flutes. I carry them over to the table and set the glasses down. The girl looks at me with wide eyes, and I turn to the guy. He’s wearing a shy smile.
“Would you like me to pop the cork, sir?”
“In a moment.” He moves from his chair, and I step back.
Really? He’s going to make me stand here in front of him and hold a bottle of fucking champagne while he proposes to her?
Oh, yep. He’s on one knee. He is. Fantastic. Hello, Mr. Romance? I have a bar to tend to and customers to serve. Not to be rude, but could we hurry this up?
Seriously, though. A proposal in a bar. No dinner and they’re both wearing Seahawks jerseys. It’s not even football season.
“Pop the cork,” Tyler whispers in my ear as he passes.
When I turn, he’s heading for the men’s room. Giving my attention back to the couple in front of me, I notice that the ring is on her finger and she’s crying. Great. A crier. Everyone loves a crier.
“Congratulations,” I smile, popping the cork and pouring them two glasses. I turn away before I’m subjected to that phony linking-arm thing people do.
