by Dani McLean
She laughed, incredulous. “Excuse me, where the hell have you been hiding this?”
“What?”
“This sense of humor. You’ve been a puckered-up a-hole since I met you, and now you become a human?”
If the sight of her brightly smiling at me wasn’t making my insides flip, I would probably be more put out by the a-hole comment. But instead, I was almost giddy.
I cocked an eyebrow at her. “Because you’ve been absolutely pleasant this whole time.”
She dropped her head onto her forearms, groaning, but when her head tipped back up, she was smiling with that familiar spark in her eyes, and I felt immeasurably better. And comfortable enough to add, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for acting like an ass.”
I heard her suck in a surprised breath. “Wow. Ok.” A flush graced her cheeks again, which she tried to cover by draining her glass. “I guess I should apologize for being a little difficult, then.”
“A little?”
“Don’t push it.” She grimaced. “I may have referred to you as Sir Smugington the Third.”
I choked on a laugh, surprising even myself with the force of it. Damn, I really liked her. This was definitely not going to end well for me.
I’d have to be more careful around her. Returning her playful banter was a terrible idea. I should stop it. She clearly felt better. I could say goodnight, send her home, and berate myself in the morning.
I should have. But I didn’t. “At least you got the title right.”
This earned me another hearty laugh. I felt my toes curl in my shoes and the edges of my own smile lifting. “How about we call it even and try to work from a fresh slate?” I said.
“I think I can do that.” Her piercing green eyes snapped up to meet mine, and I was stunned to realize the pupils were ringed in gold, like an eclipse. I was so taken by them that I almost missed her words. “This doesn’t mean I’m just going to agree with you on everything, though.”
I mentally shook myself. Distance, remember? “I wouldn’t expect it to.”
She held her glass out, an olive branch if ever I saw one. “Then, to fresh slates.”
I clinked her glass with my own, knowing this was exactly the opposite of keeping my distance.
I didn’t care.
15
Tiff
Despite the whiskeys last night, I slept like utter crap with Hannah’s words playing on repeat in my dreams.
When your own girlfriend couldn’t accept you, where did you turn?
Above all else, I hated bullies, and since I had about zero interest in changing who I was or questioning myself because of someone else’s misguided beliefs, I just stayed away and lived my life.
If you asked me what a perfect world look liked, it would be everyone minding their own goddamn business and letting the world be happy.
I was sick of having guys treat my bisexuality like a free pass for a threesome and girls treating it like a red flag. Some personal slight against their own choice because I was able to “pass” as straight if I was with a man, or like I was just “playing around” at being gay.
This. This was why I hadn’t chased relationships in the past.
Because if I was going to commit to someone, then I wanted that commitment back, two hundred percent.
I wasn’t about to give my heart and soul to someone who couldn’t accept me. All of me.
So, if that meant being single, then hell, yeah, I could do that.
There was a new energy humming under my skin as I made my way to work today, remembering the bizarreness of my conversation with Sam last night (and hello, how long had there been an apartment upstairs?!) and our truce.
He still was the same occasionally charming, oddly stilted, consistently maddening man he was before. But.
Last night he’d been thoughtful. And … ugh. Sweet.
What a bastard.
How dare he make me like him after all the shit he’d given me. He’d even apologized!
He was insufferable.
Except he, of course, wasn’t. Which was worse.
Last night, he’d surprised me, and now, I saw him through new eyes. Details I’d ignored before had become unavoidable. The sparkle in his eye if he told a joke, his face giving nothing away. How that stirred something playful in me, like we were sharing a secret.
He’d started dressing differently, too, more appropriate for working behind the bar. When he first started, it was all tailored pants and dress shirts. The occasional vest. Now, well, the pants hadn’t changed, but he’d adopted the uniform the rest of us wore. It’s better, I thought. Not that I couldn’t appreciate a crisp button-down, and he certainly didn’t look out of place in one. In fact, I could picture him looking pretty ok, actually. Sleeves rolled up. Collar undone. Glasses …
He didn’t look entirely hideous, that was all. And the black t-shirt he had started to don did show off some surprisingly muscular biceps. Lean without an ounce of fat.
What had I been thinking about again?
Right. Last night.
It had been a long time since someone else had looked after me. I was so used to handling everything on my own or being the shoulder other people cried on. And having gone to the bar when it was closed on purpose, I hadn’t expected to talk to anyone about what happened with Hannah. Sam wasn’t supposed to be there.
He wasn’t supposed to listen, offer advice. Make me feel better.
Fuck.
Whatever. I’d have to freak out about it another day. Hours of restless sleep had not prepared me enough to deal with whoever the hell Sam was.
Except. That fucker always seemed to have something new up his sleeve.
My attempt to start a normal shift was halted immediately once I spied the industrial coffee machine being installed at the end of the bar.
A beautiful, bold, black and brass coffee machine.
It was heaven itself.
Oh, I could already feel my mind racing to think of how we could start to use it. Namely for double espressos pre-shift, but there were a hundred work-related uses as well. I’d been thinking recently about a possible drink with cold brew (chilled espresso wasn’t the same thing, but I’d make do), triple sec, and tonic. Any orange liqueur would work, but I’d need to test a few recipes before I settled on a style, and here was the perfect opportunity.
Installation complete, the two laborers packed up their tools, and one went into the office. I sidled up to the other, eager to learn what I needed to operate the machine.
“Any tips for me?” I asked.
The young guy was fit, his t-shirt a size too small and stretched across his prominent pectorals. He crossed his arms across his chest in a clear move to accentuate his muscles. I wasn’t unappreciative.
“A few,” he said suggestively.
“How about we start with the coffee, then we can see.”
Movement near Sam’s office caught my eye, and I was suddenly all too aware of Sam watching us. Me. His arms crossed, leaning against the door frame, stoic as ever.
Tim, the coffee guy, walked me through the machine, flirting the entire time. “You know you’re lucky,” he said.
Not the best line, but he was young. “Oh? Why’s that?”
“We weren’t meant to deliver this for a few weeks. But apparently, your boss called us first thing this morning and paid a lot of money to make sure this was installed today.”
“Oh.” Oh, Sam did that? I resisted the urge to look over at him.
Shit.
I was going to have to be nice to him now, wasn’t I?
Thirty minutes and two double espressos later, I felt more human. Devon arrived for his shift while I was practicing on the machine, and I spent the next twenty minutes teaching him everything (as little as it was) that I knew about it. He then schooled me in milk art, the talented little shit.
Soon, he moved on to prep work for tonight while I switched gears and checked out inventory, ensuring we had enough stock on hand so
that we wouldn’t need to venture to the storeroom for anything later.
“Everything working out?”
Turning, I realized Sam was beside me. Feeling unnaturally nervous, I nodded. “Great job on the coffee machine.”
He sighed tiredly. “Are you going to now tell me you don’t think the bar needed it?”
“What? No, I mean it. Thank you. It was really sweet of you.”
He stared at me, face pinched, blinking. It was really rather disconcerting, and I could feel the hairs pick up on my neck under his unwavering gaze.
“Hello? Sam?”
“Yes?” He asked, tentative. I didn’t know what the hell his problem was.
“I said thank you.”
“I heard you.” He was still eyeing me suspiciously.
“Ok. Well, I’ll just get back to work now, unless you needed anything?”
He pinched his nose, confused. “What are you doing? Stop.”
I threw my hands up. “I can’t be nice?”
“No. It’s not normal.”
“Fuck you, too.”
“Much better.” When his smile appeared, it took me a moment to realize what was happening. It felt momentous. A firm shift, more so than last night, from the cold antagonism we had to whatever this was.
The sight of his grin was unique for me. I was so used to seeing it directed at others that I only just realized he had dimples.
They were gorgeous.
Oh, no.
A spark of excitement rippled through me. Those damn smiles of his were a weapon, softening my insides like warm cocoa. How dare he. He was becoming so irritatingly hard to hate.
And increasingly difficult to ignore. Fuck.
16
Tiff
At the end of the night, the staff split into two groups: those who left quickly and those who didn’t.
As a self-proclaimed overachiever, I was in the latter category. I wasn’t surprised that Sam fell into it, too, although it had annoyed me when he first started.
Now?
Now, I was almost glad for the company.
After Devon had finished cleaning up, I sent him home with a wave until it was only Sam and I loitering in the bar.
I busied myself reviewing the next week’s schedule while I spied Sam studying a selection of paperwork in one of the booths. It was odd to see him there. He usually preferred to be in his office or working behind the bar.
Something I’d noticed he’d spent less time doing lately, and I remembered how he’d almost dropped a box the other night. Normally, I would have made a crack about not having what it took to do what he bossed us around to do, but I’ve worked with him for multiple shifts now, and he’d never shown any weakness before.
I hated to admit it (and you’d have to torture me before I told him), but I could at least acknowledge that he was an objectively handsome man. Lean, fit, good-looking. He wasn’t built like Jackson, but he clearly looked after himself.
Considering his slender build, I’d been surprised by the strength in his body and even more by the muscular thighs and ass (one thing I’d always loved on a person). He’d surprised me today by forfeiting his usual black dress pants in favor of a slim cut jean.
And wow, that ass.
That tight, tight ass.
Dammit, that was not something I should be noticing about my boss.
I was already spending too much energy ignoring the way his smug smile accentuated the cupid's bow of his lips or the way his glasses softened the intensity of his eyes. I did not need to add this to the list of things I needed to ignore about him.
“Can I get you anything?” I asked from behind the bar.
His head turned towards me, but his eyes stayed glued to whatever he was reading. It was not adorable. “Hmm?”
Goddammit (it was not adorable). “Do you want a drink or anything?”
Finally, he looked at me. “Oh. No, I was about to make myself a coffee.”
I nodded. When ten minutes had passed and he still hadn’t made a move, I made him a cup (it was the least I could do since he was the reason we even had a machine) and walked it over to him.
“So,” I said as I took a seat across from him in the booth, a packet of chips in hand. It was the first meal I’d eaten in hours, and my stomach was turning on itself. “How are the plans coming?”
At his quizzical look, I added, “for the bar?”
Realization hit, and then he did a double-take at the cup of coffee sitting before him, the corner of his lips curling into a half-smile. “Ah, yes. Well, I’m still having some issues pinpointing a theme.” He gestured to the litany of papers in front of him, which I now realized were samples, vision boards, and news clips of assorted bars. It was like an interior decorator’s wet dream.
“Well, what is it you’re trying to say?” From the little I knew about this sort of thing, there was always an angle.
“I want the bar to be somewhere everyone feels welcome. Somewhere they can come to connect. The way I see it, not everyone can relate with lofty, expensive drinks.” His gaze shifted to mine, worried. “No offense.”
When I smiled, he relaxed and continued. “There’s a disconnect. Yes, they look great. Yes, they taste great.” I preened under the compliments. “I recognize that they have been a big deal for the bar up to now, but I think we can do more than that. Bars like that are ‘somewhere to be seen’, not ‘somewhere to be’. Everyone that comes here should feel welcomed, no matter who they are.”
“Wow,” I said, breathless from the passion he exuded. Who knew that was under his stiff, stubborn exterior? “How do you plan on saying that with furniture?”
He lifted the coffee to his lips, and I tried not to pay too much attention. “That would be the issue.”
“Ah,” I said. “May I?”
“Of course.” I flipped a few of the pages around to face me, skimming over sconce options (eh, maybe) and wallpaper designs (surprisingly chic, actually) and some schematics for replacing the back shelving, when he spoke again. “I meant what I said earlier; I don’t expect you to act any differently towards me this morning just because we had an actual conversation last night. Our first, it would seem.”
This guy. Seriously.
A smirk was itching to spread, and I gave in to the urge, throwing an arm across the back of the booth. “Despite what you think about me, I’m not a bitch all the time. I am actually quite nice. To people I like.”
“Is that your way of saying that you like me?”
I expected a denial or a change of subject. What I didn’t expect was for Sam to meet my eyes across the table or for the rolling wave of goosebumps that erupted across my skin.
Sweet heaven, his eyes were mesmerizing. So soft and caring. For all his sharp edges and defensive tactics, there was a gentleness to Sam I hadn’t noticed before. Dammit. Didn’t he know that was my kryptonite?
“Could be.”
The fluttering in my chest increased. “Don’t hurt yourself there. You almost gave me a compliment.”
“Tiffany,” he said, and there was that look again. Sam. Always so serious. I giggled, and pleasure rippled through me when he smiled in return. Oh. Oh, that was nice.
Suddenly, keeping his gaze was too much. Shifting in my seat, I dropped my attention back to the table.
There were several good options here. He seemed to favor warm tones and natural materials, which I appreciated. In particular, I was drawn to a mockup of the back bar that mimicked industrial shelving and what appeared to be pocket alcoves within a mammoth copper and concrete structure, inlaid with alternating grating or mirrors and a Tetris design that would really show off the alcohol.
It looked fucking cool.
“This is amazing.” It came out easily, the awe apparent in my voice. “Did you design this?”
“I did.” Holy shit. “It’s been something I’ve had on the back burner for a while now. I just haven’t had the right space to try it in.”
I couldn’t believe i
t. It was beautiful. “I thought you said you were having issues.” I met his gaze. “This doesn’t look like an issue. It looks like my dream bar come to life.”
Long eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks (could I just stop noticing his face now, please?) as he took the compliment.
I moved to hand back the sketch as Sam reached forward to take it, and. Our hands brushed. Minimally. So softly, I wanted to cry. Just the lightest glide of his fingers against mine and everything stopped.
My brain shut down and rebooted itself. I pulled my hand back, wanting to hold it to my chest but dropping it awkwardly to my lap instead.
Strained, he said, “Thank you. But it’s too much of a risk for now, so I’ll reconsider it maybe in a year.”
Sam looked flushed. My ears felt hot. Was Sam blushing right now? Electricity buzzed along my spine.
This really was starting to get weird. I prayed for him to shut down or insult me so we could get back to normal.
“Then, you’re a bigger ass than I thought because this is incredible.” Ok, that was better. Half insult, half compliment.
Sam nodded, a small smile still playing on his lips. Lips that I definitely did not need to be paying any goddamn attention to. When his tongue snuck out to wet his bottom lip, I realized I was still staring. Fuck. Get back on track. “In my experience, it’s worth taking a risk every once in a while. No risk, no reward, right?”
Seafoam eyes stared back at me, charged with … what? What was he thinking about right now?
“Ok.”
My skin tingled. “Ok?”
“Yes. I’ll call contractors in the morning.”
“Wow.” I fought the urge to squirm under his open gaze. “I don’t know what’s made you so pliant all of a sudden, but keep it up. Maybe now you’ll actually start listening to me.”
“Tiffany.” It was a familiar scolding, although now flooded with fondness and a growing familiarity. When had that even happened? And dammit, the way he said my name did things to me. How had I not noticed it before? I dug my clipped nails into the soft pad of my palm, but it did nothing to calm the growing need in between my thighs.
