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“While I appreciate the sentiment, I’d be a bad friend if I didn’t inform your blind-ass that girl was eye fucking you harder than I ever have.”
“Hey!” I tease. I’m not offended at all. I know for a fact Lauren is as physically attracted to me as I am to her.
“And you were looking at her differently than you’ve ever looked at me.” There’s no jealousy or spite in her voice, like there wasn’t the other night. That’s why I love my deal with Lauren. I don’t have to worry about feelings. Feelings inevitably lead to problems.
“Why would I fuck someone else who could turn complicated when I could just take you home and keep it simple?” I’m joking, but I’m also in need of a real reason for it to be worth it.
“We already went over this. But fine, let’s make a deal.” She continues. “I’m going to leave right now. You’re going to stay. I’ll text you in a few days and see where you stand. If you’re still thinking about her, you have to promise me you’ll at least try to pursue her.”
“She doesn’t do relationships. I don’t even know if that’s what I want. I don’t even know her.”
“Everyone does them if they find the right person, and the right ones almost always start with good chemistry. You won’t know if you don’t try.” With that she leans in for a hug. I wrap my arms around her neck, kissing the top of her strawberry-blonde hair. I’ve always been attracted to Lauren, enough that I want to rip her clothes off when she’s in my bed, despite our lack of chemistry. But right now, with my arm around her, I’ve never wanted to rip the clothes off someone else more.
I haven’t heard of Mack’s band before. I'm pretty sure that’s his name. They are good, but it’s not like I’m paying much attention because my focus is entirely on the badass working the bar like she’s superhuman. The restaurant industry gets a bad rap for being a low class job but only by those who have never truly lived it or mastered the art of serving. Especially when you’re working with alcohol, you’re constantly surrounded by a lot of the worst kind of humans. Even good people can be unpredictable with a few drinks in them. You have to master multitasking when it’s so busy you can hardly think and constantly have someone demanding something from you. You need to be able to remember and read people, keep them all happy, and find the balance between the line of staying professional and working for your tips. It’s not something a lot of people do well.
Lexy wasmadefor it. I’m decent at my job. I can put on a show, twirling alcohol bottles and lighting shots on fire, but I like to talk too much, and girls usually like to talk back. Lexy, however, doesn’t waste her words. She’s calm and focused on whoever she’s helping as if she doesn’t have eighteen other things she needs to be doing, yet somehow still gets it all done. Anyone else would have a line around their bar, but the girl is as efficient as they come. When I got close enough to be able to hear her, I realized she was also complimenting almost every girl and shamelessly flirting with every guy. She knows exactly what she’s doing. The compliments seem genuine, though.
I’m torn between being worried she’ll catch me staring and wanting her gaze to meet mine, but neither happens during the hour I spend stealing glances her way like a creep. Now that the show is almost over and most people have cashed out their tabs, I snag a bar stool by the well while she closes.
I slide on the black leather seat, but Lexy doesn’t notice because right then another wadded up straw wrapper lands right between her perfect breasts. My eyes follow the direction it came from to the douchiest looking dude I’ve ever seen. That says a lot considering I spent four years of college going to fraternity parties. He’s wearing a red muscle shirt–if you can call it a shirt considering the arm holes are cut out so much I can see his nipples. His cargo shorts are tan and his hat rests tilted to the side on top of his hair. Yes, his hair. How it hasn’t fallen off is beyond me.
“Hey, baby. So, I was thinking,” he says lazily, drunk.
She cuts him off, not even bothering to turn toward him as she swipes someone’s credit card. “That’s a thing that you do?”
He ignores her statement. “Maybe just tonight you could break your boss’s rule about hanging out with customers.” Lexy turns toward him, and he reiterates himself. “Hang out.” He winks as he says it the second time. This moron believes that’s a rule? I can't help but chuckle. Lexy isn’t facing me, but for some reason I know she knows I’m here. She smirks at the dude.
“I have to close the bar. I don’t have time for your crap.”
“You’re almost finished. Perfect timing.”
“Sorry, I meant I don’t have time for you, Todd. Even if I have nothing else to do.”
“What could you have to do that’s better than this?” He takes a staggered step away from the bar, waving both his hands slowly up and down his body. He looks like a desperate college girl trying to make a fraternity brother realize what they are missing out on by showing off the goods. It rarely worked for them, and it sure as hell isn’t working for Todd.
“I would rather pick up the used condoms on the floor with my bare hands than spend time with you.” Lexy’s attitude is working for me. Fuck, she’s sexy when she’s sassy.
She forcefully puts a receipt on the bar in front of Todd, and he finally takes the hint. He signs it, without adding a tip, and shoves it forward into a wet spot, soaking the paper. What a dick. Overly aggressive thoughts invade my mind. The possessiveness I feel for this girl is absurd.
I shake the thoughts from my head as Lexy cashes out her last few customers and reaches into a soapy bucket for a rag. Seems like she’s almost finished for the night, and the show only ended a few minutes ago. It was busy, and she was the only one working. I’m impressed.
By the time she makes her way to the bar in front of me, only a few stragglers are left. She tosses her rag back into its bucket before grabbing her cash bag and opening the register to pull out the drawer. She sets them in the space between us.
“What’s up?” she questions me.
“I forgot to cash out earlier.” The way she’s already counting her till makes me think she didn't even start my tab. Watching her multitask like a rockstar all night, it doesn’t seem like something that would slip her mind, but the look she’s giving me contradicts that thought.
She takes the two steps to the computer behind her and punches in a drink before printing a receipt and holding it out for me.
She only charged me for one drink. I pull out my card, our fingers grazing as she takes it. Shit, that contact was enough to make me want to grab her hand and pull her to me. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this attracted to someone, if ever. I’m not going to be able to drop this until I have her. Hopefully I can convince her.
While she runs my card, I reach for the pen on the counter and scribble a note on the itemized receipt she gave me. She sets my card on the counter, and I sign the receipt, making sure to slip her a twenty when I hand it back.
I watch her as she turns back to her register to close out my check. From where I’m sitting, I can see her perfectly from the side. She notes the tip free slip and slides it to the back of the stack, smirking at the $20 under it. When she looks at the last receipt, noticing it's the original itemized copy, she moves to crumple it, but pauses mid scrunch when she sees the writing. She stares at it for a second, confusion flashing over her features for only a moment. Then she folds it in half and sticks it in the back pocket of her shorts before turning back to me.
“Where’s your date?” she asks, nothing telling in her tone.
“Lauren. She’s a friend.” I eye her for a reaction, but she gives none.
