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Which does nothing good for my focus. I fumble and mess up orders more than I ever have.
God, my body aches to be touched.
By him, that little voice whispers. It aches to be touched by him.
By closing time, I’m exhausted, and I’m wound so tight with sexual tension it’s no wonder I snap when Natalie decides to give me attitude about how much I suck at this job. It’s like a match striking the side of a matchbox.
“What is your problem with me?” I demand.
And it’s the opportunity she’s been waiting for.
“I’m tired of spoilt little rich bitches like you thinking you should get everything so easily,” she bites.
“You know what, I’ve had enough. You have something you want to say to me, go for it. Get it off your chest.”
Natalie rolls her eyes. “Would it even make a difference?”
“Yeah, it would. So how about you drop the tough bitch act and give me a chance?”
“How about you go back to your penthouse in Manhattan and make a TikTok or something.”
“Ugh, you’re so original.” My words drip with sarcasm.
“Thank you.” She flashes me a fake smile. “I wish I could say the same thing about you. Poor little princess who can’t pour a drink to save herself, but give her an iPhone and her daddy’s money, and she’s somehow better than everyone down here in the trenches actually working for a living.”
“You’re a real bitch, you know that?”
“And you’re a joke.”
I snap.
I can’t help it.
Maybe because her words grate against my vulnerable side and sting me.
But one minute the glass of red wine is in my hand.
The next it’s empty and the wine is dripping off Natalie’s face.
Her eyes widen as she gasps in disbelief. “You entitled fucking loser.”
She grabs the soda hose and sends an arc of water at me, hitting me in the face.
So I throw the closest thing I can get my hands on, a punnet of glazed cherries sitting next to the limes. I grab a handful and throw them at her.
She drops the water hose and shoves me.
I shove her back.
She slaps me.
I slap her harder.
She grabs my hair and we both fall to the floor, grunting as we wrestle, pull hair, and roll around in water and red wine like two teenage girls in a cat fight. It’s not my first. I went to a boarding school full of rich, bitchy brats all vying for the crown of queen bee. I’m kind of ashamed to admit it now, but I was the biggest brat of all, and that crown was mine.
And look where it got you.
Finally, after much yanking and grappling, I’m able to straddle her and push her arms down at the side, pinning her to the floor.
“Alright, you win,” she pants.
I’m out of breath too and realize this is the most exercise I’ve had in months.
I pin her wrists tighter. “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. What did you say?”
She rolls her eyes. “I said, you win.”
I lift a brow at her. “That’s what I thought.”
I release her arms and rise to my feet. But the moment I step over her, I slip on the wet floor and end up on my ass.
Natalie starts to laugh, and I can’t help it, I start laughing too. And then we’re both laughing so hard neither of us can get up off the floor.
Eventually, Natalie crawls to the other side of the bar and sits with her back to the wall. I drag myself through the water and alcohol to sit next to her. We’re both soaking wet. Clothes clinging to us. Hair drenched. Both breathless from laughter.
She wipes her lip, and blood smears across the back of her hand. “You’ve got a mean right hook, princess.”
“Good to see I actually got something right tonight.” I lean my head against the wall.
We’re both silent for a moment, trying to catch our breath.
“You’re not as bad as you think,” she finally says.
“No, I’m worse.”
She laughs. “No, I was worse.”
“You?”
“My first night of serving in a bar, I set someone alight.”
“What—how?”
“They wanted flaming sambuca shots. When I set them alight, I somehow knocked one over the guy buying them, and whoosh, he lost his eyebrows.”
“Nooooooooo, what did he do?”
“He asked me out on a date. I felt bad, so I agreed.”
“And..?”
“And then I married him.” She holds up her hand and wiggles her finger. The big diamond ring glints in the dull light. “It takes a while, but you’ll get used to it.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She turns her face to me. “Truce?”
Her eyes roam my face, scrutinizing. A small smile tugs at her lips.
She gives me her hand and I shake it. “Truce.”
From the other side of the bar, a head appears. It’s a woman with a blonde pixie cut and dimples.
“Hi, I’m Eve, Massimo’s evil stepsister. You must be Bianca, the enemy. Nice to meet you. Now do you mind telling me what the hell you’re doing on the floor?”
