Page 8 of Silver Edge
“It’s all good. I’m ready to work.”
A dozen more patrons shouted orders across the bar. The other bartender poured and served while I made quick change. I spotted a plug behind the bar.Score!I slipped my iPod from my pocket. Liquor and grunge covered the outlet, so I snagged a rag and wiped down the plastic front and counter.
“You shouldn’t even try that, Einstein. You’ll be lucky if you don’t electrocute yourself.” He chuckled, but his boisterous laugh didn’t compete with the band warming up onstage.
Einstein?I longed for the music to start. I welcomed the distraction from my sticky hands. Perhaps I could buy some Wet-Naps before my next shift. “Einstein?”
“Yeah, it fits you and your mad math.” He flipped a bottle over and poured whiskey then sprayed soda into the plastic cup.
This felt good, right. I’d never been able to joke with someone before. There was something about him. “Okay, Hawaiian.”
His laugh was cut off when a hand slammed onto the top of the bar.
“I’ll be right with you.” I made quick change and handed it to Hawaiian.
“Hey, Einstein. You sure the boss hired you?” He kept his gaze on me while handing the drink over to the customer.
“Just give me the money and I’ll make change. Let me worry about wowing the boss. I got this.” I reached over Hawaiian and snagged a few ones from his drawer before slipping the twenty inside.
He clicked his heels and saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”
A hand with a fancy class ring thumped against the bar. I followed the fingers up the arm then higher before the band strummed another few off-key notes. It washisface. The one from the restaurant.
“Oh, great. Is Boobs-On-A-Stick here to have me fired again?” I cupped my hands in front of my mini-breasts. Not the size triple F’s he obviously preferred. “Listen, keep her away. Unlike the last job, I happen to like this one.”
“You do?” His head quirked to the side, causing a chunk of dark hair to fall over his brow. The tip rested on a sexy scar, a sexy bad-boy scar. But his eyes were soft, inviting, compassionate. Maybe he wasn’t the epic whipped-boy-toy I thought he was. He’d made an effort, and if her dad was that real estate tycoon that could buy his building and shut him down, she had him by the business-balls.
He offered his hand. “Name’s Drake Markham.”
I nodded but didn’t reciprocate. My reaction to touch would alert him to my uber-issues.
“So, you work here now?” Drake asked.
“Yes.” I spotted the band signaling the sound tech that they’d finished warming up and knew the music would end this conversation soon.
Hawaiian tossed an empty bottle over his shoulder into the trash. “She’s awesome. Can make change in her head and shit. Einstein here has crazy math skills. Awesome when the machine don’t work.”
“That’s high praise.” Drake pushed from the mahogany bar top, his biceps straining against his thin T-shirt.
Spotlight was never my thing, and the way his gaze fixed on me I wanted to down a shot to dull the nerves. I traced the X on the back of my wrist, reminding me of my promise to remain straight. No drugs.
“Let’s see what you’ve got.” His gaze penetrated me like he could see through my lies.
“Okay. Whatcha want?” I asked.
Drake rubbed his stubble-coated jaw, the kind that screamed strength, sensuality, and sex. “Surprise me.”
That all too familiar Dr. Hyde part of me took hold. “Sure.” I began mixing every fruity concoction together while remembering what flavors mixed well and which tasted like shit. I dropped a few cherries and orange slices into the drink and handed it to him.
He eyed the concoction in the clear plastic cup. “And what’s this?”
“BBBW.”
Resting his elbows on the bar, he tapped his class ring against the surface three times.
I strummed my fingers against my jeans. “Stands forBig-Boobed Bitch Whipped.”
Drake roared with laughter, cut short by the hard banging drum sounding off the start of the band’s first song. “Not whipped anymore. I’m done with Margo and any woman who only cares about money.”
