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I had unique experience to bring to the job, too.
Daughter of a raging alcoholic, I’d been mixing drinks since I was in elementary school.
The bartender at the time had tried to trip me up, tossing out obscure drinks, thinking I would have no way of knowing the ingredients. Being only nineteen and not legally allowed to drink yet myself.
He’d been forced to hire me when he couldn’t come up with a single one that I didn’t know by heart.
I had been working there all of two weeks when the door opened, and in he walked.
All that charm, all that sexy, all that danger floating around him, summoning me closer.
Let’s just say that as a mostly unsupervised child and, later, teen, I’d dated a lot by the time I was nineteen.
Boys. Boys my own age. Ones who’d twisted my tits and plowed into me for a whopping thirty seconds to two minutes before coming.
You could say, I was a girl on a mission.
To find a man.
One who could give me more than what I was used to.
And Czar had been twenty-five at the time, more than man enough to my thoughts back then.
To his credit, while he’d casually flirted with me, because I was sure the man was incapable of not seeming like he was flirting by virtue of his charm alone, he hadn’t exactly flung himself at me, even asking me when I was clearly trying to throw myself at him, “Are you even old enough to be talk to me?”
Let’s just say that young Nyx, yeah, she was a determined chick.
I brought him drinks.
I stroked his ego.
I ran my fingernail down his arm, over his chest. I pulled his necklace out from under his shirt, demanding to know what it meant as my fingers stroked it.
My skin sparked at the way a muscle ticked in his jaw, the way his eyes went heavy-lidded and heated.
“What time do you get off here?” he’d finally asked after four nights of my relentless flirting.
“Two-thirty,” I told him.
“Yeah? You need a ride home?” he asked.
I didn’t have a car at the time. I’d been using my mom’s old busted-ass one for a while until the engine had finally blown. I was hoping to have enough from bartending in a month or two to get something used to get me around.
Until then, I was hoofing it.
“That would be better than walking,” I told him, feeling a thrill in my stomach, knowing I had him.
“I’ll meet you out front then,” he said.
And so he did.
My pulse skittered and my heart flip-flopped.
I was so excited that I hadn’t even realized at the time how unusual it was for a guy his age to be driving a car like he drove.
Sleek.
Black.
