CHAPTER TWO
Not Again.
Honestly, how many times was the sloppy hipster going to make a play for her? He was staring at her chest tonight. Part of her couldn’t fault him. She’d been blessed in the breasts department and filled out a C-cup quite nicely, thank you very much. But still. Tact was way sexier than ogling.
“What if I ordered drinks for everyone in the bar? How about that? Would you finally give me your number then?”
“No. Because my eyes are up here,” she said, and pointed to her face.
He snapped his gaze up, caught red-handed. But he was relentless. “See? I can be trained. I’m a good boy.”
“I’m happy to serve you. But the number is under wraps and always will be,” she told him.
The dude was practically spilled across the bar, his chest draped on the sleek metal. “How about another Appletini then?”
“No problem,” she said with a private smirk. Julia loved mixed drinks – she had a bit of mad scientist in her that thrilled at discovering new combinations of flavors. But while the bartender in her enjoyed concocting a cocktail, the woman in her wished that once, just once, a guy would be a guy and order a goddamn beer. Maybe it made her shallow, but she didn’t care. She would never date a man who drank the sissy drinks she often served. She liked her men to be men. No manscapers need apply.
As she mixed the hipster’s drink – some vodka, some apple juice, a splash of apple brandy – a new customer sat down.
“What can I get for you?” She said before she even turned around.
“I’ll take whatever’s on tap.”
She froze in her spot simply because the voice was rough and gravelly, and sent a charge through her with its masculine sexiness. But, the man behind that deep and husky voice was probably a dweeb, right? That’d be her luck. She plunked the Appletini down in front of her least favorite sloppy drinker, then turned to the man who wanted the beer, and holy heavenly fiesta of the eyes.
He was tall. He was broad. He had the perfect amount of stubble on his jawline, and those eyes were to-die for – deep brown and piercing. Then there was his hair – thick, brown, and ideal for sliding fingers through. She didn’t want to take her eyes off him, but she knew better than to stare. She quickly straightened her spine, picked her gawking jaw up from the floor, and gave him a cool nod. “We have an India Pale Ale tonight. Will that do?”
“That’ll do just fine,” he said, his muscular forearms resting on the sleek bar. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and Julia couldn’t help but notice how strong his arms were. She bet he worked out. A real man kind of workout. Something hard and heavy that made him sweat and grunt to mold that kind of physique. She poured the beer into the glass, and set it down in front of him. He reached for his wallet, peeled off some bills, and handed them to her.
“I take it you’re Julia?”
Uh oh. How did he know her name. Was he an undercover cop? Had she accidentally served someone under twenty-one? She was diligent and methodical in her ID checking and had never let an underage in. Or wait. Her spine stiffened. Was he onto her? Did he know what she did every Tuesday night at a dimly-lit apartment above a greasy restaurant in ChinaTown that smelled of fried pork? That would be over soon though. It had to be. She’d done her time, and was ready to cash in. Soon, she kept telling herself.
“Yeah,” she answered carefully, all her senses on alert. She wasn’t really doing anything wrong those nights, was she? No, she was just taking care of business as she knew how.
“I hear you’re the best bartender in San Francisco.”
The tightness in her shoulders relaxed. At least he wasn’t a boy in blue come to bust her. But forget his smoldering looks. He was like the rest of them, going for cheap lines, hitting on the woman behind the bar. “Yeah, where’d you hear that? Facebook?”
He smiled briefly, shook his head. Damn, he had a fabulous smile. Straight, white teeth and a knowing grin. But she knew better than to fall for a hot stranger simply because he was handsome. She’d done that before, and it had kicked her in the ass. That’s why she was a No-Strings-Attached kind of woman these days. Not that she’d had any attachments of any sort lately – she had too much trouble to untangle herself from before she could even think about getting tangled up in love, let alone the sheets.
“No. Your sister told me. McKenna, I believe.”
Oh.
Oh yes.
It all made sense now.
And far be it from Julia to ever doubt her big sister. Because McKenna’s assessment was one hundred and fifty percent correct. He was smoking hot. Un-be-lievable. And he was no longer a stranger. He was sister-approved, he wasn’t a cop, and he wasn’t a heavy, so she shucked off her worries. “Clay Nichols,” he said, offering a hand to shake. Nice firm grip. Before she knew it, she was thinking of other uses for those strong hands.
“Julia Bell.”
“So how’s your day working out for you, Julia Bell?”
She laughed once. Not because it was funny, but because it was such a simple and direct question. It wasn’t a cheesy line. “It’s not too shabby,” she said. “And yours, Clay Nichols?”
He shook his head, let out a long stream of air. “Long, annoying, but ultimately victorious.”
“What, are you a fighter?”
“Nah. Just a lawyer,” he said then took a drink of the beer. He nodded to the glass in admiration. “Insert lawyer joke here.”
“A lawyer walks into a bar,” she said, then stopped to shoot him a playful stare. “Actually, that’s not a joke. That’s me giving a play by play.”
He laughed. “You are an excellent commentator so far.”
“Why thank you. I can keep it up all night,” she said.
“All night? Is that so?” He raised an eyebrow, and his lips curved up in a wickedly sexy grin.
“It just might be. So, you were victorious. That mean you won your case?”
“Just won the right terms in the negotiations. My client is happy. That’s what matters.”
“What kind of law?” she asked, praying he wasn’t going to say something seedy or sleazy – like personal injury law.
“Entertainment law,” he said in that deep, rumbly voice that she was already digging.
“I’m a big fan of entertainment. Movies and me, we’re like that,” she said, twisting her middle and index finger together.
“Likewise. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t enjoy the work. But I know what it is, and I know what’s not. I’m not saving the world. I’m not putting the bad guys behind bars. I’m just trying to help actors, directors, and TV show hosts get the best deals they can get. Put on a show, make some people happy. That’s all I do.”
Julia tapped the side of his beer glass. “And I believe I’m in the same field then. I’m not curing cancer. I’m not saving the whales. I’m just mixing a drink, or pouring a beer, and trying to make someone’s night a little better. That’s all I do.”
A grin spread across Clay’s face and Julia admired the view. He was a fine specimen of man, with a chiseled face, and hair that could be held onto hard when you needed to. But more than that, their simple conversation was just that – nice and easy. She’d often thought being able to really connect with a guy meant having a deep discussion on the meaning of life. But hell, she had little interest in that these days, given all the crap that was chasing her down, all the things she wanted to shuck off. The past, and the debts she carried from it, were a hard heavy weight on her shoulders. Maybe tonight she could forget about them for a bit. Have a conversation that wasn’t about all that she owed. Besides, nice and easy suited her mood. If someone asked her to define the meaning of life lately, then as far as she could see was to try to be happy as best you could. Right now, she was enjoying the way it was easy to talk to Clay Nichols.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
He wasn’t pretentious. He wasn’t pushy. He had a directness about himself and what he did for a living that was refreshing.
“To entertainment,” she said, raising an empty glass in a toast.
“And to being entertained.”
“Let’s see if you can keep that up,” she said, issuing a challenge, because she craved a distraction like this. The last few months of her life had been far too tightly wound. Too much pressure. Too much trouble. Too many things she shouldn’t have to deal with, but was stuck with. Tonight, she wasn’t going to think about all the things chasing her. Tonight was for fun and for admiring the fantastic view. Sometimes, a woman just needed to to flirt off her stress.
“I’m up for it, Julia. I’m definitely up for it.”
* * *
That McKenna was right. Hell, she was more than right. Her sister was hot as sin with those curves, those breasts, and the perfect kind of hips that he’d like to get his hands on. Her hair was lush and reddish brown. Her lips were full and ripe for kissing. As well as other things. But more than that, she was feisty, with that smart mouth firing off innuendo with every word. She could dish it out, and she could take it. After the day he’d had, after the way his days went in general, he wanted a night like this.
So they chatted on and off as she served more customers. She asked him about the deal he’d worked on today, and he told her what he could tell. He asked her about the night she’d had, and she nodded to a skinny guy slouched over the corner of the bar, and there was something so easy – so completely lacking in the bullshit and abrasiveness of office hours — about talking to her.
As she mixed up a purple concoction with sugar on the rim, she crooked a finger toward him, signaling for him to lean closer across the bar. He obliged; he wasn’t going to complain about being near to her.
“Do you want a Purple Snow Globe, Clay?”
He met her gaze straight on, her green eyes so inviting. “If it’s that a drink, no. If purple snow globe is a secret code word for something naughty, I’m game.”
“Well played,” she said, raising an eyebrow. She eyed the drink she’d just made with a proud sort of look. “It’s my signature cocktail. Some day, I’m going to win an award for this bad boy.”
He leaned back in the stool and took a slow measured drink from his beer glass, then set it down. “Will I regret not ordering then? For the chance to say I drank a Purple Snow Globe once at a bar in San Francisco?”
She flashed a sexy smile, then whispered. “It’s absolutely delish, so you might regret not tasting it. But I’m glad you didn’t order it because it’s nothing a man should ever ask for at a bar and expect a woman to want him,” she whispered near his ear, her hair brushing his cheek, making him instantly hard. But that wasn’t entirely true. He’d been borderline hard for most of the conversation. The feel of her silky strands along the with the words want him just ratcheted things up a notch or two.
She stepped away to deliver the drink to a customer and tend to more orders. As she returned to his end of the bar, he picked up where they’d left off. “What do you think a man should drink at a bar?”
“Scotch,” she said, punctuating the word with a perfect O shape to her lips. “Or whiskey,” she said, her voice a purr now. “Bourbon works too.”
“I believe you just named all my favorite drinks.”
“I had a feeling you might like those.”
“Did you?”
“I always know how to match a drink to a man.”
He tapped the side of his beer glass. “Then I’d like to know why I have a beer here in front of me. Tell me that, Julia.”
She paused, tilted her head to side with a mischievous flare to her moves, then licked those luscious lips. Damn her; she was hotter than words, and she knew how to play. “When it comes right down to it, a man should drink what the bartender gives him,” she said in a sultry voice that made him want to hear her say other things. Lots of other things. Like Hold me down hard. Or Tease me with your tongue. Yeah, those sorts of things. “That’s the best match I can make.”
“I don’t want you making that match for anyone else then tonight,” he said firmly, giving her a hard stare, reminding her that he could play too. Because he knew exactly what he wanted. Her. And he didn’t want anyone else to have a shot. “Especially because I’m finding the bartender has excellent taste.”
She raised an eyebrow. “She does. She has impeccable taste, and she’s only making one match tonight,” she said, layering her words thick and hot with innuendo.
He wasn’t entirely sure where the evening was going next, only because he wasn’t the kind of man to take a woman like Julia for granted. He wasn’t going to make any sort of assumptions because assumptions got you into trouble in life. He knew that well from his line of work, and from the crap he’d dealt with from his ex, who’d brought heaps of heartache to him in their last few months together before it ended. It was also entirely possibly that Julia was a shameless flirt, angling for a big tip with her saucy little mouth. You couldn’t rule anything out, and regardless of where the night ended up, he planned on tipping her well for her bartending work because the woman was doing a hell of a job.
There were other jobs he’d like from her though.
Soon the crowds thinned, and Julia finished up the last call, and then she leaned across the bar, her lips dangerously near his jaw. “You don’t have to go when I lock up. In fact, you are more than welcome to stay.”
Oh yeah. He was entirely sure where the evening was going now.