eyes and my attention away from
him, I put all my concentration into making a good drink. It’s much
more difficult than it should be. My eyes keep trying to stray to
Cash.
As I’m rubbing the rim of the glass in salt,
I forget and look up. Cash is singing along to a song about
whistling and when the part comes for him to whistle, he puckers up
his perfect mouth and does it right along with the beat.
I can’t help but stare. And, as if he doesn’t
already have me flustered enough, when he stops whistling, my eyes
climb back to his and he winks at me.
It’s the exact moment I know I’m in trouble.
Big, big trouble.
Taryn pushes me to the side to slide a glass
across the bar in front of Cash. It pulls me from my thrall. I pour
my margarita, garnish it with a wedge of lime and a wedge of orange
and offer it up as well.
He sips first Taryn’s drink then mine and
then each one again, smacking his lips and savoring the flavors. I
wonder if he’ll really pick the best drink, or if he’ll simply pick
the one opposite the girl he’d rather see dance on the
bar.
I realize there isn’t an outcome I’ll be
happy with. If he chooses my drink as the best, I’ll wonder if it’s
because he wants to see Taryn dance. Not that it should matter to
me what he wants to see Taryn do.
But it does.
Dammit.
But then, if he chooses her drink, not only
will her drink be supposedly better, but I’ll have to dance on the
bar, which I really don’t want to do.
He nods and picks up my drink to finish it
off. “We have a winner!” he says, pointing to me.
I feel relieved and victorious, but also
strangely conflicted. Rather than look him in the eye, I remove the
empty glass when Cash sets it down on the bar. My eyes move past
Taryn who is smiling coyly at someone, I assume Cash.
“Good news, boys,” she yells happily. “I’m
still gonna be making margaritas my way, and you’ll
be getting some entertainment tonight. I call that a win-win.”
With a whoop, Taryn reaches back to flip on
different music, choosing a very suggestive song that I have no
doubts she’ll make good use of. When I see her climb up on the bar,
I move to the opposite end to get drinks for the handful of people
that aren’t watching her and cheering her on.
I do everything I can not to watch her or Cash. I don’t want to see his reaction. But when the
cheers get louder, my eyes are drawn down the bar despite my
resolve.
Taryn apparently jumped off the bar into
Cash’s arms. He’s cradling her and she has her arms wrapped around
his neck, very tightly it appears. She’s smiling like the cat who
ate the canary—or maybe the cat who wants to eat the
canary—and Cash is laughing.
Just as I’m looking back to the draft I’m
pouring, I see Taryn pull Cash’s head down to hers and kiss him.
And it’s not just a little peck. She looks like she’s trying to
swallow his face. And he’s not resisting.
Cold liquid gushing over my fingers pulls me
back to the task at hand. The pilsner is overflowing and beer is
running down my wrist and into the spill tray. I jerk back and set
the glass down, angrily flinging beer from my fingertips. I’m
inordinately mad at myself for letting Taryn and Cash rile me up,
and even more so for letting it affect me so blatantly.
I’m making furious swipes over the wet
counter, cleaning up my mess, when Cash leans across the bar and
speaks to me.
“I need you to stay after for just a few
minutes tonight. Got some paperwork for you to fill out. Shouldn’t
take long.”
I look up and meet his eyes. I want to
scratch them out. And then spit in his face. And then curse him for
being exactly what I thought he was.
A bad boy.
A playboy.
A heartbreaker.
But I also want to kiss him. And let him
carry me up to the private room above us and put an end to the dull
ache of desire that’s been plaguing me since the first night we met
when I pulled his shirt over his head.
Dammit!
He smiles as he leans back. “Great
him, I put all my concentration into making a good drink. It’s much
more difficult than it should be. My eyes keep trying to stray to
Cash.
As I’m rubbing the rim of the glass in salt,
I forget and look up. Cash is singing along to a song about
whistling and when the part comes for him to whistle, he puckers up
his perfect mouth and does it right along with the beat.
I can’t help but stare. And, as if he doesn’t
already have me flustered enough, when he stops whistling, my eyes
climb back to his and he winks at me.
It’s the exact moment I know I’m in trouble.
Big, big trouble.
Taryn pushes me to the side to slide a glass
across the bar in front of Cash. It pulls me from my thrall. I pour
my margarita, garnish it with a wedge of lime and a wedge of orange
and offer it up as well.
He sips first Taryn’s drink then mine and
then each one again, smacking his lips and savoring the flavors. I
wonder if he’ll really pick the best drink, or if he’ll simply pick
the one opposite the girl he’d rather see dance on the
bar.
I realize there isn’t an outcome I’ll be
happy with. If he chooses my drink as the best, I’ll wonder if it’s
because he wants to see Taryn dance. Not that it should matter to
me what he wants to see Taryn do.
But it does.
Dammit.
But then, if he chooses her drink, not only
will her drink be supposedly better, but I’ll have to dance on the
bar, which I really don’t want to do.
He nods and picks up my drink to finish it
off. “We have a winner!” he says, pointing to me.
I feel relieved and victorious, but also
strangely conflicted. Rather than look him in the eye, I remove the
empty glass when Cash sets it down on the bar. My eyes move past
Taryn who is smiling coyly at someone, I assume Cash.
“Good news, boys,” she yells happily. “I’m
still gonna be making margaritas my way, and you’ll
be getting some entertainment tonight. I call that a win-win.”
With a whoop, Taryn reaches back to flip on
different music, choosing a very suggestive song that I have no
doubts she’ll make good use of. When I see her climb up on the bar,
I move to the opposite end to get drinks for the handful of people
that aren’t watching her and cheering her on.
I do everything I can not to watch her or Cash. I don’t want to see his reaction. But when the
cheers get louder, my eyes are drawn down the bar despite my
resolve.
Taryn apparently jumped off the bar into
Cash’s arms. He’s cradling her and she has her arms wrapped around
his neck, very tightly it appears. She’s smiling like the cat who
ate the canary—or maybe the cat who wants to eat the
canary—and Cash is laughing.
Just as I’m looking back to the draft I’m
pouring, I see Taryn pull Cash’s head down to hers and kiss him.
And it’s not just a little peck. She looks like she’s trying to
swallow his face. And he’s not resisting.
Cold liquid gushing over my fingers pulls me
back to the task at hand. The pilsner is overflowing and beer is
running down my wrist and into the spill tray. I jerk back and set
the glass down, angrily flinging beer from my fingertips. I’m
inordinately mad at myself for letting Taryn and Cash rile me up,
and even more so for letting it affect me so blatantly.
I’m making furious swipes over the wet
counter, cleaning up my mess, when Cash leans across the bar and
speaks to me.
“I need you to stay after for just a few
minutes tonight. Got some paperwork for you to fill out. Shouldn’t
take long.”
I look up and meet his eyes. I want to
scratch them out. And then spit in his face. And then curse him for
being exactly what I thought he was.
A bad boy.
A playboy.
A heartbreaker.
But I also want to kiss him. And let him
carry me up to the private room above us and put an end to the dull
ache of desire that’s been plaguing me since the first night we met
when I pulled his shirt over his head.
Dammit!
He smiles as he leans back. “Great
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