I move through the line of the bar, mixing drinks and taking names. A brunette with a come-and-fuck-me smile looks from me to the menu.
“What you want is not on that menu,” I say, plucking it out of her grasp and easily tossing it over my shoulder.
“And how do you know that?”
“Because,” I say, grabbing a bottle of liquor and pouring a steady stream into a shaker full of ice, “you want to try something new. Something that will help you let go. And that is why I’m here.”
“To catch me when I fall or help me let go.” She’s teasing. I’m game.
“Both.”
A quick shake and she watches my arms. Straining her drink, I slide it across the bar as she scribbles something on a napkin and slides it across to me. Her number.
“Call me sometime?” she says, casual.
“Bet on it.” I pocket it and leave her with her drink and a smile—a smile that says there’s so much more to come. But later, for now, I’ve got more thirsty customers to deal with. I serve fast, until a piercing whistle cuts through the din.
“Oh, barkeep,” a sugary voice calls. “I’m just about dying of thirst over here.”
I laugh. I know that voice, and trust me, this girl is more spice than sugar.
“Savannah, baby,” I greet her with a grin. “What can I do you for tonight?”
She smiles back. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me? Or are your special powers slipping?” There’s a note of amusement in her voice. And a challenge.
“Oh, ye of little faith.” I look her up and down, which is never much of a chore, especially tonight. She’s wearing a tight navy dress that hugs her curves and begs to be peeled away slowly – or shoved up fast. Which means there’s a hot date on the horizon – lucky bastard. “I know exactly what you need.”
“Funny,” she smirks, “That’s what all the guys tell me, but somehow, they all come up short.”
“Not me, sweetheart.” I tell her, setting down a tumbler and reaching for the whiskey – the good shit. “When I make you a promise, I always deliver.”
I set the glass in front of her with a flourish. She gives me a slow clap.
“No thanks needed for the drink,” I tell her.
“Oh no, that was for the number burning a hole in your pocket.” She flashes a smirk.
“Savy, as always, your charms are much appreciated.”
Savannah leans over the drink and then looks up at me with a critical gaze. “What, no mint? Don’t tell me I haven’t been a bad girl. But really, does that line actually work?”
“I’ll have you know that smacking the mint before adding it to a drink helps to release its aromatics.”
“That’s a very big word for you. However do your patrons keep up?” Savannah sips her drink, and I have to pull my eyes away from the gentle suction of her lush lips at the rim of the glass. I’ve been warned enough times by our mutual friends: Savannah is off limits. Nothing wrong with a little harmless flirting though.
“So who’s the lucky guy tonight?” I ask. “Better than the last one, I hope?”
“My last date was fine, thank you,” Savannah says primly.
I grin. “Really? Because from what I heard, Mr. Slobber could use some pointers.”
“Who told you about—” Realization dawns, her blue eyes narrowing like a hunter on the prowl. “Cassie is so dead.”
“Before you murder my friend’s girl, please explain Picky Eater. I liked that story, too.”
She shoots me a glare and slams back the rest of her whiskey with a grimace that I can’t help but find sexy as hell. Most girls who toddle in here on their stilettos go for wine or a fruity cocktail, but there’s nothing sexier than a woman who can appreciate her whiskey.
“How much is left in that bottle?” she asks.
I hold it up. “At least a few bad decisions, I’d say.”
“Hit me.”
“This isn’t poker, baby, but if you’re willing to play hold ‘em, I’d be happy to help you up the ante.”
“And what’s the buy in?”
“Just a night of your time.” I tease. “It’ll be fantastic. I can guarantee you’ll be seeing stars by the end.”
Savannah rolls her eyes and nudges the empty glass toward me across the bar. “Your manwhore tactics should not be pointed in my direction.”
I lean over the bar and hold her gaze, “Savy, if I ever try my tactics on you, you’ll beg for it and say please and thank you when it’s done.”
She stiffens, her back going beanpole straight. I’ve gotten under that picture perfect exterior. The girl can shoot straight whiskey and make a trucker blush with her language. I lean back. Savannah’s blue eyes are dark and her lips parted as if she’s searching for a response.
“The word you’re looking for is: please.”
“Cash?” she asks coyly, rolling her shoulders slightly to draw attention to her breasts. I look because if she’s going to put it on display, it would be a pity to see it wasted.
“Yes.”
“Please...”
“Please what? Use your words, what do you want?”
“Please refill my glass.” She pushes her glass toward me.