“You’re taking the good tips.” The other bartender blocks her exit. “You know what that means.”
She holds her hands in the air. She’s got a lot of hand gestures going on. “No. I’m not doing it again. Family or not.”
“You are so doing it. I’ve got tuition.” He starts chanting “Britney” at the top of his lungs. Things are getting interesting. My teammates have joined in and…“Baby One More Time” is now blaring from the speakers.
Glaring at him, she straightens her shoulders. “If you weren’t my baby brother, I’d kick your ass.”
“On the bar?” He smiles.
“No way.” She turns to me and downs the rest of her bourbon before adding, “It’s a good thing I love you, bro. Now, pause it.”
The music stops, and my teammates whine and whistle. “Yeah, okay. Enough!” she shouts, sauntering from the bar with her hands raised high in the air. “First off, I’m not a stripper and this is no Coyote Ugly, okay? You guys want Britney, you’re gonna join in.”
The guys boo. “Come on, guys. I’m not doing this by myself. The music won’t start until you’re on the floor with me.”
I’ve never seen my teammates move so fast, even on the ice. I guess hockey guys are Britney fans. Horny Britney fans. Hell, I’m a horny bartender fan, which is why I stay seated. Because she is turning me on. Way too much for my own good.
Pushing tables and chairs aside, Lucky and Thor are the first on the makeshift dance floor. They shove each other, jockeying for the prime spot in front of her. The other guys either join in or wait to the side of the action.
“All right. Nice job, guys. First, the rules. Rule number one: No copping a feel. Rule number two: Fun is allowed. Touching is not. If rules one and two sound familiar, it’s because they are. Who understands?”
My teammates hoot and holler.
“I can’t hear you.” She places her hand against her ear. She’s taking command of the crowd like a boss. They listen, they obey. Right away.
Louder, my teammates holler as the ones on the sidelines join in. I remain on my barstool, getting the perfect view of her ass.
“I can’t believe I went to business school for this,” she mutters under her breath. Nodding to her brother, Britney starts blaring. That intro: “Oh baby baby.” I know it well. It’s every man’s wet dream, at one point in his life or another.
The bartender owns it. The dance moves, the shimmying, the spinning, and the kicks. She’s also singing. No karaoke here. She is full-on singing it like she owns the song.
Lucky is all fired up, though he has no rhythm to save his life. Thor is dancing like there’s no tomorrow, and he knows all the words. He and the Vamp are singing this shit like champs. Lip Sync Battle’s got nothing on them.
Chris places his beer on the bar next to me. “No strippers. Thank God. I was afraid you and Damon would go all out.”
Technically, we did. I quickly send a text canceling the strippers. This is way better. Besides, Chris is okay with it and that’s what matters.
The bartender turns, teaching the guys the moves. “Follow what I do. If you can’t dance, nod with the beat.”
She’s done this before. Teaching dance. She must have. She’s too good at it, and the guys are eating this shit up. So am I. Damn, this woman is sexy.
“Where did you find her?” Chris asks.
I shrug. “Her brother. He bartends here. She went to business school.” I don’t know why it was important for me to add the last bit. It just was.
The song ends, and another starts playing, by Imagine Dragons. We’re running the gamut with our playlist. Chris waves the mystery woman over. “Thanks for teaching the guys to dance. You’re great. Were you a cheerleader? Dancer?”
She laughs, this throaty laugh. “Neither. I was too gangly and awkward growing up. I just watched a lot of Britney videos and memorized the moves. I’ve also got nieces and nephews. Dancing makes babysitting fun for all of us. This is one of the staples on my playlist.”
“So, you treated our teammates like they’re kids?” I can’t hide my smile. If she’s awkward, then she makes it sexy as hell. I’d love to learn what else is on her playlist.
“Yeah. You could say that.” She turns to Chris. “Congratulations. You’ve got quite the best man. Talk about a toast.”
Her tone is laced with humor and sarcasm. Heavy on the sarcasm.
“Lots to live up to,” Chris quips. The guys have now moved onto the electric slide and are doing a lot of grinding. “They know the meaning of this song. I’m going to try to keep my bachelor party PG-13. Excuse me.”
She reaches into her bra and my eyes widen. Unrolling the cash, she calls down the bar, “Matty.”
“Hey, thanks for that.” Her brother leans against the bar. “They’re gonna be thirsty.”
Placing the cash in his palm, she folds his hand into a fist and tugs him closer. “Tuition. Nothing else. Got it?”
“You sure? You need—”
“I’m sure. Now, get back to work.” As a side note, she shouts, “Wash your hands first!”
The whole scene was protective…sweet. Though I want to know what she needed the money for, I know better than to ask. Not now. Not yet.
“Nice meeting you, Nick. Thanks for the tip.” Her smile is lopsided and a little goofy. She’s pretty. Maybe not in the bombshell sense, but her smile beams, brightens the bar, making me feel warm from within. A reaction I didn’t know I was capable of.
“I never got your name.”
She takes a step back. “I never told you.” Weaving through the guys, who are dancing to the current song of choice, she grabs her purse from behind the bar, slings it over her shoulder, and heads toward the exit.
“Hey.” I follow her outside, where it’s cold. Winter cold and dark, with nothing but streetlights illuminating the sidewalk. “You don’t have a coat.”
Looking over her shoulder, she surveys me. “Neither do you. Besides, I’m just going next door.”
There’s an Italian restaurant around the corner from The End Zone. She unlocks it, and our hands brush as we both grab the handle at the same time. It sends a jolt through my system. I’m suddenly awake, alive, all my nerve endings humming for this woman I just met.
“My real job.” She walks through the doors, oblivious to the responses she’s awakening in me, and I follow, squinting when she turns on the lights.
I’ve been here many times, but don’t recall seeing her. “You bartend here?”
She places her purse on a table. “Only if someone calls in sick. It’s a family-owned business and I manage the office side.”
Though I’m new to the Nighthawks, Binetti’s is famous. It’s been around for decades. Rumor has it that they’re struggling. I remember the tip she gave to her brother and wonder again what she needed the money for.
“You’re doing that staring thing again.” She studies me, her dark gaze penetrating, unrelenting.
“Would you like to have dinner?” I blurt it out, fumbling over my words. “Would you like to have dinner? With me?” It sounded smoother the second time.
“Thanks, but no. It’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
She inhales a deep, ragged breath. “More reasons than I can count. The first of which is that I don’t date hockey players. The rest…well, they all stem from the reason I don’t date hockey players, and you’re a hockey player.”
“True. But I’m not your average hockey player.” That’s my argument? I should ask her what she’s got against my profession, then argue my case.
The door opens.
“Sorry, we’re closed.” She turns. If snark had an expression, she’d be wearing it right now at the sight of two strippers in cheerleader outfits.
“We’re looking for the bachelor party.” One of the tw
o blondes leans against the doorway. “They hired a Britney, too?”
The not-so-bartender exhales a ragged breath. “Yeah, you’re an average hockey player. You’d better escort your friends next door.”
“I canceled them. I swear.” That’s my defense. My only defense. It sounds weak even to me.
“Yet, they’re still in my restaurant.” She points to the left. “The End Zone. Around the corner.”
What does a guy do when his strippers leave and the woman he wants to pick up suddenly hates him? “What’s your name?”
She shoots me a wry glance. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. What’s your name? I’m not going anywhere. Not until I at least get a name.”
“Cami. That’s all you get. Now go.”
So, her name is Cami. I’ll assume her last name is Benetti, like the restaurant. “Nice to meet you, Cami.”
“ ‘Bye, Nick.” She waves, one of those see-you-never waves.
The restaurant door closes behind me. As soon as I hear the lock, I hurry back to the bar. The team is watching a striptease and Chris is sitting at the bar.
“Shit, Nick. Strippers?”
“I tried to cancel them.” I flag down Matt. “Is your sister on Scorcher?”
“Scorcher? Are you on Scorcher?” Chris stares at me like I’m some mutant who has body-snatched his best friend. I ignore him.
Matt blinks. Twice. “Is that some sort of Morse code?” I ask.
“How do you know Cami is on there?” His eyes are wide. “Oh my God, are you interested in my sister? Nick George?”
I pull out my cell and unlock it with my finger. “Nicholas Alexander on the app. How do I find someone I’m not matched with?”
“You’re on Scorcher but you don’t know how to use it? And you’re using your middle name? Holy shit.” Chris is like an old man obsessing.
“I’m on Scorcher. Yeah. Middle name. Right. Please keep up.” I snap my fingers, drawing him out of his bizarre haze.
“Matt, need your help, buddy. Your sister doesn’t date hockey players.”
Bartender Matt coughs.
“Am I missing something?” I ask, watching Matt pull out his own cell. Though I can’t see what he’s typing, I assume he’s texting his sister and telling her I’m clinically insane. God knows I’m acting like it.
My cell pings. I have a match. Camille. Likes sarcasm, karaoke, and keeping a man on his toes. Right swipe.
Matty boy is still typing on his cell.
A message comes through. Let’s meet for coffee. Thursday morning. You in town?
Hell, yeah, I’m in town. I’ve got a date with a hockey-hating, sarcastic, hot-as-hell woman. My pulse races. Never have I been so excited to hear someone’s cynicism.
It’s on.
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Ice Hot Page 23
