Part 25 (1/2)

Couple of sloppy rednecks.

Some older women holed up in the corner.

Yeah...definitely not my speed.

I hesitated at the door, but then my eyes fell on the bartender. She was in the middle of taking a drink order at one of the bar tops and was about as out of place as an angel in h.e.l.l.

She wasn't just pretty. She looked f.u.c.king beautiful... Her luscious hair barely graced her shoulders. Long, bare legs stretched for miles from her miniskirt down to her cute and almost criminally disheveled pair of red Converse sneakers. Her low-cut blouse hinted at moderately sized b.r.e.a.s.t.s not too big, but not small.

Perfect.

My feet moved of their own volition, stepping closer towards the counter. The patrons were already looking at me with their stupid, judgmental eyes, but I didn't give a s.h.i.+t.

They could get f.u.c.ked.

Half of them looked like they could use it.

As I comfortably took my seat, the bartender glanced over her shoulder at me flas.h.i.+ng me a look at her sharp and beautiful eyes.

My c.o.c.k twitched in my shredded jeans.

That's when I knew.

I was f.u.c.king her tonight.

4.

Angel

Tending bar as an eighteen-year-old girl particularly one with a pretty face had taught me a valuable skill: the art of keeping an eye on the entire room at once.

The newest arrival proved to be a bit of a distraction. He was dressed in a tight s.h.i.+rt that clung to a deliciously muscular frame. A brief slick of red ran through his hair, and he finished off the look with a pair of fas.h.i.+onably torn black jeans. He'd been staring ever since he walked in. I could feel his burning gaze bore into me from behind as he hungrily treated himself to some eye candy.

Without a word between us, I knew I could flirt a big tip out of him. Maybe it would be enough to get some decent food for the next few days. It was time to play hard to get.

”What can I get you?” I offhandedly asked him after plugging in the previous order.

”What do you want to get me?” he replied.

I turned around to try and catch the jacka.s.s undressing me with his eyes, but his gaze was surprisingly fixated on the chalkboard drink specials instead.

”I'll take a draft,” he said before I could respond to his little comment.

”Which draft?”

He chuckled arrogantly to me, flas.h.i.+ng a condescending but admittedly s.e.xy smile.

”Your favorite draft.”

I put my hands on my hips. ”I don't drink.”

A genuine look of surprise flickered across the man's face. ”You work behind the bar...”

”All the more reason not to drink. Let's try this one again: which draft do you want?”

He nodded thoughtfully, ignoring the tone of my voice. After a moment, he opened his mouth to answer, his tongue absent-mindedly sliding across his canine.

”I'll take Abita. Tall.”

I took a second to shake that s.e.xy tongue flick out of my head.

”Amber or Lager?”

”Lager.”

”You're not from around here,” I observed.

”Never been here,” he answered, his lip curling up into a sly smile again. ”Name's Trent. Trent Masters.”

Trent Masters. Didn't hurt to know exactly who was p.i.s.sing me off at any given moment. His name sounded a little familiar, but I couldn't place it.

I couldn't place a lot of things these days.

But he didn't need to know that.

”Coming right up,” I said, intentionally brus.h.i.+ng my fingertips against his before turning toward the tap. It sent a small bristle through me, which I promptly tried to ignore.

”Thanks, beautiful.”

Beautiful... It was nice to hear him say the word. Most of the people who called me beautiful were old enough to be my grandfather... Trent was anything but. He was handsome with a capital H. Even with his stupid clothes and his gelled hair, I couldn't help but notice up close that he was built like a d.a.m.n linebacker. I didn't like it one bit.

Which means, of course, that I was practically salivating and wanted to touch him again...

As Trent curled his fingers around his fist and rested his elbows, I could see how thick and well defined his huge forearms were even as I grabbed a gla.s.s. A little higher up, his bulky, broad shoulders stretched his dark s.h.i.+rt. A simple medallion hung around his neck, draped over what were undoubtedly rock-hard pecs.

Ignoring his gaze and his stupidly hot muscles I whipped up a frothing, overflowing pint in a chilled gla.s.s. With a glance stained with disdain, I plunked the draft beer down in front of him.

”Enjoy.”