Yet here she is, strolling toward the bar, a stubborn set to her face. Her soft brown shoulder-length hair sways, and even in the dim light I can see it’s glossy. I bet it feels good, clenched in my fist as I jerk her head back and lick— Oh, fuck no. Not going there.
But it’s hard not to when I see her long expanse of curvy bare legs in a tiny fucking black skirt with a little flare. Her tank top is hot pink and her breasts spill over the top. Definitely different than last week’s outfit.
Is she trying to pick someone up here?
She sits down at the same spot she was in last week and just gives me a look. Her eyes don’t have the same skittishness they had before. There’s a stubbornness in her, that’s for sure.
So she wants to hang with the bad boys, does she? Maybe she’s some pampered, spoiled new girl who’s looking to slum a bit. Wouldn’t the first time we’ve had them walk in here, spending Daddy’s money to buy a bunch of shots, then hooking up with one of the Beckett brothers.
Normally it doesn’t bother me. Hell, I end up winning both ways—the bar makes money and I get laid. But something about this girl makes me feel uneasy, a little off center. I can’t quite figure out what it is. And I don’t like it.
I rarely lose my temper fast, but watching that idiot Dan pawing all over her last week, the tension and edge of fear in her eyes as she tried to get away…I fucking lost it. Broke his fucking nose for good measure. Luckily he slunk out of here and didn’t file charges—it was a stupid, impulsive move on my part.
Whatever. I’m not going to let her get under my skin.
I ignore her for a solid ten minutes, serving other customers, cleaning glassware, keeping busy, anything to pretend she isn’t sitting there quietly, waiting for me to acknowledge her and bring her a drink.
I guess she isn’t going to just slink away, despite me silently willing her to go away. I walk over to her. “So you’re back,” I say, and my voice isn’t any friendlier than last time.
She lifts her chin. “I guess I’m a glutton for punishment. I haven’t had shitty customer service in a whole week, and I’m way overdue.”
The smartass answer makes me chuckle unexpectedly. Okay, so she’s funny, I’ll give her that. “What do you want?”
“A beer. You guys do still serve those here, don’t you?” Her lips curl into a small smirk. “Whatever you gave me last time is fine, if you remember what it is.”
Oh, I remember, all right. I remember lots of things about her—what she drank, how she smelled, how she bit her lower lip. I thought about her randomly over the past week, wondering what made her come to the bar in the first place. Figuring I wouldn’t see her again. Wouldn’t hear her husky voice.
Thinking it was definitely for the best that way.
I let my gaze rake over her breasts, then raise then with deliberate slowness to her face. Her cheeks are a delicate blush of pink, but to her credit, she maintains eye contact with me, unwavering.
I grab a mug and fill it, then hand it to her. She gives me a nod and sips the brew, and I hear a small, happy sigh escape her lips. Something about the way she takes simple pleasure in a thing as unimportant as a beer makes me wonder how she’d react in other situations, like my face buried between her thighs.
My cock twitches at the thought.
I shake it off and make myself move away. Fuck no, I’m not going down that road with her. If she isn’t a virgin, she’s pretty damn close; innocence practically radiates from her. The dirty shit I’m into would probably shatter her already fragile psyche.
This bar is hell, and seems to me she’s an angel with a broken wing who wandered her way into the wrong place. Despite her bravado, there’s still an air around her that speaks of pain and sadness. But I’m not getting caught up in that.
Still, she’s fucking gorgeous. It’s no wonder I see several guys checking her out. I shoot a few warning glares out at the crowd. I can’t have her, but I’ll be damned if I let any of these other mutts pollute her, either.
Miss Innocent doesn’t take her time finishing her beer; she drinks it like she’s on a mission. When it’s empty, she sets the mug on the bar surface and doesn’t say anything, just eyes me quietly. Waiting to see what I’ll do. If I’ll continue to ignore her.
I tell myself I’d be a shitty bar owner if I didn’t try to serve my customers, and I go over to her. “Another?”
“I think I want a shot,” she declares.
“I see.” I fight back the smirk that threatens to erupt and say, “And what kind of shot are you looking for?”
“A blowjob.”
Hearing the word slide from her mouth makes my cock twitch again, and I imagine my dick pressing between her swollen lips, her on her knees in front of me, panting and licking and wet. I keep my breathing steady and pretend I’m not affected. “You got it.” I start to move away to make her shot.
“Do one with me,” she blurts out.