Bar Bites: A Man of the Month Cookbook

by J. Kenner

  In this case, her id was definitely controlling the show. Her mouth was dry, her pulse had kicked up, and she was going to have to work very hard not to sound like a babbling idiot around him. All because she'd been living for almost a year now with the world's biggest crush on the dark-haired man with the action-hero body. A man who, apparently, was determined to spin her hormones into a tizzy, because in addition to the jeans that clung to his muscled thighs, he also wore a tank top that clung to his chest and revealed every inch of his tight-but- not-too-bulky arms.

  It was, frankly, seriously distracting.

  Even in mid-March he was tan, and he looked like a god. Or at least like a fitness model. Which was probably a more reasonable comparison, considering his tank top advertised the Capital 10K, a local Austin marathon that Tiffany knew he'd participated in for each of the last six years. And, she assumed, he'd be running in his seventh in just a few weeks.

  So would she, actually.

  She'd started running with Mina and two other women who used to work at The Fix. Megan, who'd married Parker Manning after a whirlwind relationship and was about to launch a skin care line. And Taylor, who used to stage manage the Man of the Month calendar contest, but was now happily engaged to one of the winners and working with Spencer and Brooke on Mansion Makeover, their real estate reality show.

  "You're starting to drool," Cam whispered to her, and she actually rubbed her mouth before realizing he was teasing her. She grabbed a bar rag and smacked him, only to realize that Eric had come even closer and had seen the whole weird interplay.

  She waved lamely, feeling not sexy and interesting, but like a twelve-year-old wrestling with her BFF. Way to make a good impression.

  Eric waved back, then told Cam he'd be out to relieve him as soon as he changed into the bar's black logo T-shirt.

  "No problem," Cam said, then turned back to Tiffany. If he was trying to hold in laughter, he wasn't doing a good job of it.

  At least no one was sitting along the bar at the moment. Four o'clock on a Sunday was the bar's slowest time, and most people who came in sat at a table and ordered food. And none of the folks at any of the tables seemed to be paying any attention to her and Cam. Except Mina, who quickly turned back to her script, her expression amused, when Tiffany caught her eye.

  "You need to just go for it," Cam said.

  "Hello? I'd planned to last year, remember?"

  "How could I forget? You spent days stressing about whether the whole Ben thing made it weird."

  She lifted a shoulder. "I know, but I'm over it now."

  Her original excuse for not pursuing anything with Eric had been that she'd dated his brother Ben for six months when she was an undergrad. He was six years older than Tiffany and at the time he'd been a teaching assistant in the psych department. It wasn't a grand passion, but they'd had great conversations. It had ended when he entered a doctoral program at a college in the Northeast-- where he now had a teaching position--and Tiffany had only realized how uninspired the relationship had been when his leaving hadn't left a hole in her heart. He was a nice guy, just not her guy.

  Her guy would make her tingle. Her guy would generate sparks. He'd make her laugh. He'd make her feel.

  Ben simply wasn't that guy.

  But she thought that Eric might be...

  "If you're over it, then why haven't you done anything?" Cam asked reasonably.

  "Because right about the time I got over it, he started going out with that girl."

  "That was last September. And they broke up before Christmas. And now it's March. Look at all the weeks you've wasted."

  She made a face. "Well, if I'd made a move earlier, then I would have been the rebound girl."

  "Procrastination, much?"

  "Dammit, Cam. Have you thought that maybe he just doesn't like me?"

  "Or maybe he's the one who thinks it's too weird to ask you out."

  "I don't know. I only saw him a couple of times when Ben and I were together. I felt guilty for thinking he was hot--and kept my mouth shut, of course--but I don't think he noticed me at all."

  Cam shrugged. "Maybe he didn't. Then again, maybe you were wrong."

  "And maybe he's not even remotely interested now."

  "Dunno. But the point is neither do you until you do something about it." His expression shifted to one of sympathy. "Come on, Tiff. You're the one who helped me finally get Mina, remember? I want to do the same to you."

  "I know. Thanks. I'm just chicken."

  "Yeah, well, you know what they say."

  "What?"

  He leaned toward her. "Get over it."

  She rolled her eyes and was tempted to hit him with the bar rag again, but Eric was on his way back.

  Cam was scooting under the bar, and she was about to follow. "Hold up. Why don't you make us a pitcher of Pinot Punch? Appetizers should be out soon."

  "I can do that," Eric said as he passed Cam, then ducked under the bar and emerged about two feet from Tiffany. She was a full head shorter, and she tilted her head up to smile at him.

  "Love the hair," he said as Cam headed off toward Mina.

  "Oh." She reached up and pushed an errant curl off her face. Her friend Selma had referred Tiff to her hairdresser, and now her wavy light brown hair was highlighted with streaks of magenta. "Thanks. And I can get the drink. You have opening stuff to do."

  "You sure?"

  When she nodded, he gave her a thumbs-up then started to pass by her to get to the prep station. But there was a box of wine in the narrow walk space, and since she hadn't anticipated his movement, she couldn't get completely clear of him. He ended up passing her sideways, so that for one moment they were facing each other and the air between them crackled, sparking with possibility. His chocolate brown eyes met hers, and she thought she saw a desire as potent as her own.

  Then he was past her and the earth started turning again--and the moment evaporated, and she was left to wonder if she'd really seen it, or if it had all been her imagination.

  She stayed there like an idiot until she heard him call from the end of the bar, "We moved the pitchers over there."

  "Oh." She followed his gaze to the location of the pitchers, which she already knew, then called back her thanks. Then she went about pulling the ingredients for what was one of her favorite drinks served at The Fix. She was concentrating on measuring out the orange juice when Eric came up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder.

  She squeaked, dropped the OJ carton, and spun around.

  "Oh, shit," she said, glancing between him and the rapidly spreading pool of juice. "I'm so sorry."

  "I didn't mean to startle you. Just the opposite. I was going to pass behind you, so I was giving you a silent warning. Sorry."

  "It's okay. Really." She dove beneath the counter for a box of rags and started to mop up the mess.

  "Go on," he said. "I'll make the drink and bring it to you."

  "I can't ask you to--"

  "You're not." This time, she was expecting it when he reached out and lightly put his hand on her upper arm as if to steady her. A place that she was now hyper aware of. "I'm offering," he said, and once again she saw that heat in his eyes.

  "I--oh. If you're sure?"

  "Just pop your head in the back and tell Mike I need him," he added, referring to the part-time bar back.

  "Sure. Thanks." They were close now, and suddenly she had the completely unreasonable impression that he was going to kiss her. Which couldn't possibly be true, but she eased out of his grip, anyway.

  He stood up straighter, and she slipped under the bar. "Thanks again," she said, then hurried to sit with Mina and Cam, taking a seat with her back to the bar so she wouldn't be tempted to stare.

  "What was that all about?" Cam asked.

  "I'll never manage to ask him out. I'm acting like a teenager with a crush. When it's perfectly obvious that I'm a twenty-four-year-old with a crush. It's absurd. I'm absurd."

  "Wait," Mina said. The food had b
een delivered, and she used the slider she held in one hand as a pointer. "You have a crush on Eric?"

  Tiffany turned her attention to Cam. "You didn't tell her?"

  Cam's shoulders rose. "You told me not to."

  Tiffany and Mina exchanged glances, then both started laughing.

  "What?" Cam asked.

  Mina shook her head, then took his hand. "You're a really good guy. You know that, right?"

  "I just thought--"

  "Maybe a movie?" Mina said, her voice pitched a bit too loud.

  He's there? Tiffany mouthed to Cam, who lifted his brows in acknowledgment and sipped his water.

  Tiffany's pulse, which had calmed down, kicked up again.

  "Looks good," Eric said, eyeing the food as he put the pitcher of Pinot Punch--a mix of pinot grigio, orange juice, peach schnapps, frozen peach slices, and Sprite--on the table.

  "Thanks for doing that," Tiffany said. "And sorry again for being such a klutz."

  "Yeah, well, at least you're a pretty klutz." He held her eyes for a heartbeat, then looked away, almost as if he'd startled himself with his own bravado.

  As if sensing the need for intervention, Mina asked Eric what he was doing later. Spring Break officially started the next day. "You don't usually have a day off after a shift, do you?"

  "Nope," Eric said. "But I also usually work until closing. I'm only on the clock for five hours tonight. Off at nine. Reece said he'd come in and cover for me."

  "Hot date?" Cam asked, and Tiffany kicked him under the table.

  "Not exactly. Pretty much everyone in my apartment complex either goes to UT or recently graduated. So there's a party tonight in the courtyard. When I mentioned it to Reece, he offered to cover for me. To be honest, I wasn't planning on going, but when your boss tells you to go to a party..." He trailed off with a shrug.

  "Sounds like fun," Mina said. "Why weren't you going to go?"

  He shrugged, his eyes cutting quickly to Tiffany and then back to Mina. "I've only lived in this apartment for a few months, so I don't know many of them yet. Guess I wasn't in the mood to go stag."

  "So take someone," Cam said.

  "Sure," Mina added. "Why don't you take Tiffany?"

  "What?" Tiffany said.

  "Yeah?" Eric shifted to look at her. "I'd love the company if you're up for it."

  "I--" She looked helplessly at Cam and Mina, both of whom were urging her on with their eyes. "Well, yeah. That sounds fun."

  Eric's wide smile lit up her heart. "All right, then," he said. "It's a date."

  "Yeah," Tiffany repeated, her voice raised above the cacophony of hooting and hollering going on in her head. "A date."

  Chapter Two

  A few hours ago, Eric wanted to kiss Mina almost as much as Tiffany. Now, as he sipped a beer in his kitchen while he waited for Tiffany to arrive, he was thinking that he should have muzzled her. Because right now, his nerves were definitely jumping.

  That was the thing about Tiffany--somehow, someway, she always knocked him off balance.

  As a general rule, Eric didn't get nervous around women. Considering how much his tips improved when he flirted, a case of nerves would be pretty inconvenient. And even when there was a real attraction, he'd never felt as topsy-turvy as he did around Tiffany.

  Jill, for example. They'd met in the produce section of HEB last September, flirted casually, and Jill had asked if he wanted to meet for coffee. One thing had led to another, and before he knew it, they were dating.

  There'd been sparks--in bed at least--and that's probably why he let it go on so long. But even with sparks there wasn't any real heat. And every time she'd left him to go home or to work, she tended to leave his thoughts as well.

  Tiffany hadn't left his thoughts--not really--for years. She always seemed to linger. That crooked smile. Her hair that fell in such lovely waves he imagined it felt like silk under his fingers. And those greenish-gray eyes the color of the sky after a thunderstorm.

  He shouldn't want her; Eric knew that. It seemed disloyal to be attracted to his brother's ex-girlfriend, even if Ben was half a continent away. Eric knew how much Ben had loved her, though Ben had never used the word. Even so, Eric had been able to see it in his older brother's eyes.

  Could Eric date someone his brother had loved? What if it got serious? For that matter, what if he somehow ended up hurting her? Would it end up being an issue between him and his brother as well as him and Tiffany?

  "Idiot," he said, and slammed the beer bottle into his trashcan. He was seriously overthinking this. He had yet to go on a date with her, and already he was planning how to handle their possible futures, both good and bad? Honestly, he should get his head examined.

  A small laugh escaped him. Maybe he should get Tiffany to do that for him. She was a psych major, after all. And if she wanted to continue the inspection more intimately... well, that would be fine by him.

  He grabbed another beer from his fridge and told himself to chill. This wasn't a date; they were just going to a party together. Friends and coworkers. So there was nothing disloyal going on. And there was no reason to be nervous.

  Right? Right.

  He checked the clock, saw that she was ten minutes late, and wondered if she was blowing him off.

  Three minutes later, he heard her knock, and he hurried to the door, knowing that he was going to come off as over-eager, but not really caring. All he wanted was to see her, and when he pulled open the door, she took his breath away.

  She stood in front of him with her hair flowing loose around her face, her lips a soft, kissable pink. She wore a pale blue T-shirt dress that hit mid-thigh and blue sandals. Her toenails were blue, too, and so perfect that he fleetingly wondered if she'd had a pedicure before coming over. And if so, he wondered if it was for him.

  "You look great," he said, meaning it. His cousin Sarah wore that kind of dress all the time, but they hung shapeless and uninteresting on her. With Tiffany, there was nothing dull or shapeless about the outfit. She gave it curves. Made it unique. Hell, it was practically runway ready the way she wore it.

  A slow smile spread across her face, lighting her eyes with pleasure. "I'm glad you think so." She stepped inside, and he caught the scent of vanilla. It made him hungry, although not for food.

  "It's a little summery," she was saying, and he forced his mind away from how good she smelled. "But the weather's so crazy lately that I think March is turning into summer."

  "That's okay," he said. "That would mean December would come, when? In September? Three months early. I can handle that."

  "Hmm. Good point. But does that mean that May's already behind us? Because that means I didn't get everything in this semester. I don't want to crash and burn in my masters program just because I wore a dress out of season."

  "Right. So that's no good. How about we let the months stay the same, and we'll just call the dress a Tiffany Russell fashion statement."

  "That's me. The ultimate trendsetter." She looked around. "Nice apartment."

  "If by nice you mean completely uninteresting, then I agree with you."

  She laughed. "Well, it is a little sparse. But it has potential."

  She was right on both counts.

  "The potential's why I rented it," he said. "I like the open floor plan so I can get in and out of the kitchen easily. The master bedroom is huge, and there's a smaller bedroom for guests."

  "Have a lot of those?"

  "Not really, but my cousin's a single mom. Sometimes I watch her little boy. When she needs some sanity time. Or when she needs sex and wants him out of the house."

  Tiffany burst out laughing. "Lucky she has you. That explains the two-bedroom. I'm guessing the big kitchen is so you can fiddle around with drink mixes and appetizers?"

  "You got it." For years, he'd been experimenting with making cocktails, and Tyree had even put a few of his creations on the menu at The Fix. But it was only since The Fix sponsored a food fair last October that he'd started trying a hand in
the kitchen. He wasn't great--not yet--but he enjoyed it. And he wanted to speak the language of food as well as he did that of alcohol. To be able to pair things without a recipe book, but simply because he knew the essence of the ingredients.

  "That explains the layout," she said. "But you have a card table to eat on, a futon for a couch, a bookshelf that's overflowing--some awesome titles, by the way--some milk crates supporting a piece of plywood for a coffee table. What's in the bedroom? A blow-up air mattress?"

  "Want me to show you?" The instant he spoke, he regretted it. The words might be innocent, but his intention definitely wasn't. From the way she tilted her head to the side, he was certain she'd heard the underlying invitation. When her cheeks flushed and she flashed a tiny half-smile before saying, "Maybe later," he was sure of it. And the fact that he'd heard as much heat as humor in that response not only gave him cause to be optimistic, it also gave him a hard-on.

  "Right." He cleared his throat, then turned toward the kitchen, both so that he could offer her a drink and so that he could hide some of the evidence that she was making him crazy.

  Despite the open floor plan, there was still a small breakfast bar off the counter near the refrigerator, and he gestured for her to sit there.

  "Want a drink before we go down?"

  "Down?"

  "The party's in the pool building. There's a bar down there, but I can't vouch for the offerings."

  Eric was a drink snob, a fact that pretty much everyone at the bar knew. Not that he didn't think there was a place for cheap alcohol, but he'd decided long ago to make his living tending bar until he could move up to owning his own place. Before that, he'd considered being a sommelier--his palate was excellent--but had quickly learned that he liked the social aspect of tending bar. His parents had been less than enthusiastic when he'd told them, but when he paid his own way through business school at UT so that he'd have the skills to open a restaurant when the time came, they got on board.

  Plus, they really appreciated having someone in the family who could make a decent margarita.

  Which, frankly, seemed like a good idea now.

  When he suggested it, Tiffany nodded enthusiastically. "Much better than the cheap wine and beer they have downstairs, I'm sure. Besides, I'm in no hurry if you aren't."

  He met her eyes. "No hurry at all."

  Two margaritas each later, and they still weren't in a hurry. They had, however, moved to the futon. Or Eric had. Tiffany was sitting the floor on the other side of the table, her legs straight out in front of her, her hands behind her to prop herself up. Every few minutes, she'd lean forward and take a sip of her drink, a process that caused her dress to shift and cling in a way that made Eric glad he was seated.