I sigh. “Like I said last night, I want something more than a fuck and run.”
He looks at me again, that charming smile looking hotter, more intense. Like he’s stripping me naked with his eyes. I shiver. If he touches me, I’ll give in. What would be so wrong with a quickie, especially if I’m in the hands of a master? Tomorrow we could both pretend it never happened. Right?
He gently brushes the inside of my wrist, which is still damp from where I licked it. The feel of his fingertips on my body shoots a very sexy signal straight down to my center. I lean in, my skin prickling with anticipation. I can see his eyes on my lips, drifting lower…
Then he pulls away. Dammit. “Customers,” he gestures vaguely, and even though there’s nobody waiting at the bar, I take it as a sign. Off limits. Never going to happen.
I shake my head to clear the dirty thoughts away and stand, which is remarkably more difficult than it should be. “I should go.”
“Take care,” he says, and he’s got that right: but I’m going to be the one taking care of myself tonight.
CHAPTER FOUR
Cash
Thursday night, we close the bar. Private business only. We have three other spots around the city, so one night off the clock isn’t going to break the bank. Besides, we’ve got plans to discuss: location number five, our most ambitious project yet.
Katie offered to come over after her late class for a ‘study session’, but I’d put her off. There’s nothing like working out a few kinks with a friend. And trust me, Katie and I have worked through plenty. Her O-Chem homework, my latest cocktail mix, but I’m not sure even the lure of the Katie’s smooth thighs clenched around my head can tempt me tonight.
Maybe I’m losing it.
Nah. It’s just the new bar. Things get hectic, and we all work ourselves to the bone before a big opening. I’m surprised Cassie hasn’t invaded and forced us all to take a break. It may be the night off for our employees, but until The Library opens, it’s all hands on deck.
Tables have been pushed together, and the plans for The Library have been spread out, waiting for us to make them perfect.
Located in Virginia Highland, we’re going to take The Library to a new level. If Altitude was about going back to our roots — Atlanta in all her glory through the years—The Library is intended to be a throwback to old-fashioned clubs. Lots of hardwoods, luxurious fabrics, and nooks with grouped seating, but still plenty of what our customers have come to expect from our clubs: a real fucking good time.
“Pizza’s on its way,” Parker says, taking a seat at the bar across from me. He’s as casual as he ever gets in a button up and slacks. It’s just one more reason why I’m glad I never followed my father into the investment world. I like jeans too much.
“The drinks are almost ready,” I say, loading up the bar with several tumblers. I’ve been working on the new cocktail list. We’ll always have the staples, but we’ve got to give the crowd something new, something they can only get at The Library. Tonight’s all business: Jackson’s going over the final renovations and set up, and I’ve got a new line of drinks.
I’ve been going old school on the cocktail menu: whiskey and bourbon. It’s something I always associate with books and writers. Sure, the whole concept is based around a library, but naming drinks after book titles or literary people seems too logical, too obvious, too expected.
“What’s on the menu?” Parker asks, picking up the card, I’ve been using to work out the recipes.
“351.3—The Librarian.”
“I hope she’s hot.”
“She is well stacked,” I joke. Parker laughs,
“My first crush was a librarian, she had the whole sexy good girl thing going on. We should get the waitresses to wear those cute spectacles and tight little cardigans.”
I snort. “Good luck with that. The girls would blow their lid.”
Parker sighs. “That’s what we get for letting them run the show. You’re no fun since Cassie,” he calls over to Ryder.
Ryder looks up from where he’s studying the plans with Jackson.
“Haven’t gone home alone in the last week, what do you say to that?” Ryder shoots back with a smirk and a toast with his beer. He and Jackson abandon the plans and join us at the bar.
“I say you’re two steps past whipped.” Parker says, but there’s no bitterness in his voice. It’s all good fun.
Ryder glances down at the menu that’s still in my hands. “351.3?”
“It’s a library call number,” Parker says. “Cash wants us to be classy.”