by Selena Kitt
"Yeah," said Heather. "He just cleaned the almighty fuck out of this bathroom." She chuckled. "You should see the men's room."
"Have you seen it?"
"Checked it this morning. Didn't think I'd ever come out."
Gigi put her hands on her hips and looked around again, turning slowly about in a circle.
"So," Heather said.
Here it comes.
"Can we keep him?"
Gigi shook her head and laughed. Not just because she was talking about the barback as if he were an adorable puppy who had followed her to the bar. Heather knew she'd had this conversation with Noah before, and she knew Noah had said no.
"I know you said no," Heather said, anticipating her objection.
"I did say no. I said no because we can't afford him, and because he said he isn't staying."
"Yeah. But… maybe you can ask him again."
Gigi patted her friend's shoulder. "I'm not asking him again. He said no. You're just going to have to enjoy this while it lasts."
Heather pouted, and Gigi stifled more laughter, not sure whether her friend's disappointment was exaggerated. They had been through more than their share of lazy, stupid and just plain incompetent barbacks, to be sure. It was a hazard of being a seasonal bar, she told herself. No one stayed long enough to be good at what they did, especially not the barbacks, who were the bottom of any bar's corporate ladder. Noah was just an exceptional case.
Gigi didn't dare admit to Heather that she wanted Noah year round at least as much as she did. He was that damn good. She complained about the expense and his availability—the standard gripes of a manager struggling with staffing problems—and Heather bought it.
She wasn't lying, really. Those were two real reasons she couldn't keep Noah. But as close as she was to her day manager, who had kept many a secret over the years, Gigi couldn't let Heather know what the real dealbreaker was.
There just wasn't any way Gigi could stay in the same room with Noah all year long.
That body of his. The way the muscles in his arms stood out when he did all the heavy lifting barbacks had to do. And those eyes. The sight of those deep blue eyes looking down into hers as she told him to do something made her skin prickle in a way she hadn't known in too long.
The longer he stayed, the more she indulged in daydreams about him. Standing in her office, waiting for her orders.
On his knees, tugging at her panties with his teeth.
On his back, between her thighs, his teeth clenched in the effort to postpone the inevitable climax.
She couldn't say any of that to Heather. But she'd have to make do with just the summer, too.
She went back out to the bar with Heather, intending to make a quick walk-through to check on her customers before heading to her office to keep up with paperwork. The appletini girls were huddled over a menu. A waitress brought a pitcher of beer to the booth of regulars.
Noah leaned against the back bar, just outside the swinging kitchen door. He seemed oblivious to the commotion around him, which was nothing new. She'd seen him focus on filling the ice bins as if the fate of the world depended on it. Now his attention was directed at the end of the bar, and the old man she'd observed there earlier.
The last time Noah had stared at a customer like that, the guy had turned out to be the ex-boyfriend of another customer. After a couple of beers, he'd started raising hell, screaming and cursing at his ex, who had dared to show up with another man. Noah had let him carry on like that until Gigi tried to get him to leave. When the asshole had sworn at her, too, Noah had picked him up by the scruff of the neck and one belt loop, and he'd carried him, yelling and struggling, out the front door.
There hadn't been any trouble after that, unless he saw something now that she didn't.
Gigi had been filling a pint glass with ice when Noah appeared next to her.
"Boss?"
God. Hearing that word in his low voice, meant for her attention only, made desire creep slowly through her.
Easy. "Yeah, Monroe?"
"You see that guy over there?"
She didn't have to look up to know who he meant. "I see him. I don't think he's going to—"
"Would you buy him the next beer?"
She glanced up at Noah to see if he was serious, and chuckled when it looked like he was. "You know him?"
He shook his head.
"He just looks like another beer would do him good?"
He nodded. "That's right, boss."
She looked up at the old man, still gazing at nothing as his nearly empty glass grew warm beside him. She would probably have refused anyone else; she often had to rein in summer employees fascinated with the idea that the bar's budget allowed them to buy someone the occasional drink. But Noah wasn't given to bullshit.
"Tell you what, Monroe. How about you buy him the beer? I'll take it out of your pour tab."
"Thanks, boss." He peered over into the ice well behind her and headed back to the freezer. "I owe you one."
Gigi pulled a beer for the old man and took it to him. He finally looked up when she swapped out his glass for the fresh one.
"Oh," he said. His features softened into a smile that seemed careworn and lost, as if he were embarrassed to be caught staring into space. "But I didn't—"
"Don't worry, brother," she said. "It's taken care of."
He blinked at the beer before speaking. "Oh. Um, thank you."
"Yeah, you bet."
She watched the old man from the corner of her eye as she poured herself a glass of water from the soda gun. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he regarded his new drink, but his smile was wilted and broken. He sure didn't seem much happier, but she'd only given away one beer. Maybe he'd stay for dinner now.
Time would tell. She took her glass of water back to the office.
* * *
She hadn't gone downstairs to the cool storage room to complete a full inventory. She liked to save that chore for Sunday nights. She'd just come to check on the bubblegum vodka. Two of the summer bartenders had suggested picking it up for younger customers. The incredibly sweet liquor was great for what they called girly drinks.
She'd gone into the storage to see how many of the three bottles were still on the shelf.
She'd gone in to count to three. Actually, the highest number she would have had to count to was three.
And she couldn't do that. Because of him.
She had been half-listening to him out there, talking to the old man as he hauled the last of the glasses to the back bar and wiped down the sinks. The tone of his voice was warm and friendly, although she couldn't make out the words, and his new friend's responses were softer in comparison. Somehow Monroe had gotten this guy to open up enough to order dinner, and he'd lingered at the bar all evening, until now the two of them were closing the place.
Much as Noah's kindness intrigued her, though, Gigi was distracted by his other attributes.
She imagined his body moving, so graceful despite his size. In her mind, she could see his big hands around the pint glasses, his powerful legs taking him easily from one end of the bar to the other. He'd be out there now, mopping the floor with long, sweeping movements like a dance.
Time went slowly. The storage room's familiar perfume, cardboard mixed with the sweet spicy smell of spirits, wrapped itself around her.
She knew he'd come in eventually. He'd ask if she needed anything else. That was his question for her every night.
You need anything else, boss?
This time, she'd put the iPad down and turn to face him. She'd crook her finger silently, beckoning him. Not smiling, not coy. A summons, a command.
And he'd come to her, slowly filling the room with each step until he was right in front of her, as close as these bottles of vodka she couldn't count because of him.
Then she'd point down at the floor, and his long legs would fold in silent reverence as he knelt before her.
He would know what came next. He would kno
w how to unfasten the button and zipper of her jeans, how to slide them down and down. He would know that he must kiss each thigh before he proceeded. He must present the warm pressure of his mouth, the fine sandpaper of his chin, for her approval.
He would know that when she nodded, he must remove her panties. Moving them aside would not be enough. She must feel his face, his breath against her bare skin. Tonight, however, the fabric might give in those strong hands. These panties were worn and flimsy things anyway, defenseless against the lust he must try to control, and she would forgive the destructive impulse because it aroused her so immensely.
She would widen her stance to make room for him. Those big hands would cup her naked ass. His breath would be hot and urgent on her swollen mound.
And then his tongue would slide between her pussy lips, with the slow confidence that was part of him. His mouth would settle on her aching flesh, and he'd devour her, his firm lips coaxing hot nectar from her, his tongue plunging deep into her. She would rock her hips against his face, and his fingers would dig in, partly to hold her still and partly as a response to his tremendous hunger for her.
She would stroke his hair first. Yes, he was so good. Yes, it was just as she wished. Then she would pull it, bringing him up and into her, and he would know she wanted more of this.
He was so strong and tireless, made for her, and he would prove it with his service. The wet sound of him feasting on her, the slow sway of her hips toward his face and then back into his hands. The subtle rasp of his chin on her slick folds would be loud in the storage room's stillness. He would go on like this as long as she wanted, as long as she could bear it.
And when she tapped the crown of his head, he would divert his attention to her clit, flicking it with his tongue, pressing it between his firm lips until she flew apart under his ministrations. He would hold her as she shuddered, her back against the shelves, making the bottles ring against each other.
He would hold her steady until she came back to earth.
He would lick her juices from his lips.
Then he'd ask her favorite question. "You need anything else?"
She snapped back to reality with a sigh. Dammit. She'd come down here to count three bottles. If she wasn't careful, she'd be here all night.
* * *
Gigi was not doing inventory. She'd told Noah that was what she was doing, and she was standing in the storage room with her iPad in her hand. She looked the part all right.
But Gigi hadn't moved for at least sixty seconds. Noah knew that because he'd been standing about three feet behind her, staring at her ass, for that long.
He blessed the day he'd found this place and come in to ask the manager about the barback job. He hadn't even known what a barback was. He just knew he needed a way to make some money before he went to Florida to meet up with Lamont, and lots of people had told him that working at a bar meant good money and a good time.
Then he'd met the woman who would be his boss.
Jesus.
Built like a goddess. Almost as tall as he was and strong, too, but gifted with curves that were just right for his hands.
He wanted to lick that perfect brown skin. He wanted to plunge his hands into that dense mass of curls, too abundant to be imprisoned in a ponytail, and he wanted to tug and tease them, to watch them glow a deep red-brown in the light. He wanted just once to see her in a bikini. Something bright. Something that exposed those long legs.
The other day, he'd caught her checking him out. At least he thought he had. She hadn't dropped her gaze when he faced her. In fact, she'd given him something else to do. But for that instant, she had been looking at him.
That would have been enough if he didn't work for her. If he wasn't the employee, he'd have found out by now if she'd been inspecting his technique or sizing him up for something else.
But he liked this job too much to risk it. It did pay well, and he went home exhausted. He hadn't had a nightmare in weeks. So he settled for perfect moments like this, when he could stare at his boss's ass with impunity while she pretended she was doing inventory.
What was distracting her?
Was she thinking about him?
Her spine straightened an instant before she glanced over her shoulder. She jumped just a little when she saw him. She pressed her palm to her chest and exhaled through perfect, rounded lips. "Jesus, Monroe."
"Sorry," he said.
"It's all right." She chuckled and rubbed her eyes. "It's so late I can't count to three down here."
For a moment, he dared to think she'd been thinking of him. Maybe thinking of digging those short nails into his shoulders. He tried to keep the thirst off his face. "I finished everything up front. I just came to see if you needed anything else."
"You let that guy out?"
He smiled, remembering the old man's firm handshake and the tiny tremor in his features that said he wanted a hug instead.
"Yeah, I sent him home."
She was quiet for a second, and a tiny furrow appeared between her brows, but she didn't ask whatever question was on her mind. Instead, she set the iPad on a box of Stoli and looked up at him. "You know, Heather and I were talking about you today."
Oh, really? "You were?"
"Yeah. She's really impressed with your work here." She put her hands in her back pockets, right where Noah wanted his own.
"That's great," he said. "Thanks."
"I'm impressed, too." Her rosy lips curved into a smile.
His skin grew warm, and he hoped the light was too dim for her to see him blushing. "Even better."
"She wanted me… she asked me to ask you to stay on. After Labor Day." She lifted one hand to ward off his response. "I told her you and I had already talked about this."
He'd been upfront at the interview when he'd said he could only stay for the summer. His stated reason at the time was that Lamont was expecting him to join the crew of his fishing boat in Florida. He'd also secretly wondered how long he could stay interested in the job.
Now he just had to deal with Lamont.
"Yeah, I'm flattered." He nodded. "I mean, I really would stay if it weren't for this other job."
"I know." She shrugged. "I told her. But I also told her I would ask you. Again."
She was blushing. Her face went the color of sunset, a warm rose color unlike anything else God had created, and he could all but hear her body seeking his touch.
His skin tingled as the fine hairs on his bare arms slowly rose. The air thickened between them, its weight so heavy he could barely expand his chest. Something like electricity slowly wrapped around his spine, down to his balls.
A feeling he knew all too well—the sense that something was about to happen. He'd felt it dozens, maybe hundreds of times in the blazing heat of the desert half a world away. The tingling hyper-awareness, the first icy slivers of sweat, the short, shallow breath. They all heralded unpleasant surprises built of searing flames and thunderous explosions that made the very air tremble.
He'd never experienced it in this way, connected to something he needed like he needed the rush of blood in his veins.
He could kiss her. He could close the scant distance between them and slide his tongue along the seam of her plump lips.
But she rocked back on her heels and touched her tongue to her upper lip. Cool air swept into the space between them, enough for him to regain himself by breathing deeply of the storage room's booze-fragrant air.
"Okay," she sighed. "I'll tell her tomorrow. That you said no. Again."
"Okay." He rubbed the back of his neck, the friction restoring him to reality. "I mean, nothing personal. I just have to be in Florida."
She swept one hand over the other. "That's what I told her. She's just not big on taking no for an answer."
"I get it." He eased away from her and toward the door, moving like a magnet being pulled off steel. "You sure you don't need anything else?"
She took the iPad off the box of Stoli. "I'm good. See you t
omorrow?"
"You bet."
He was almost to the stairs when she spoke again. "Noah."
She rarely used his first name. Hearing it in that low, musical voice almost undid him.
"Yeah, boss."
"What's up with that guy tonight?"
He turned to face her and sat down on the steps. "That's a long story."
She chuckled. "Looks like you want to tell a long story."
He rested his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers. "That guy was in Vietnam."
She crossed the room. For a moment, he thought she'd sit next to him on the wooden steps. He wasn't sure he'd be able to handle that, but he wanted her near him enough to want to try.
She stopped short of the stairs. "How did you know?"
"So when I was a kid, we used to visit my uncle. My dad's oldest brother. He was old enough to be drafted to go to Vietnam like a bunch of other guys." He smiled up at his boss, trying to keep the mood of his story light. "Dad worshiped my Uncle Tim when they were kids. He said when people asked what he wanted to be, he used to say he wanted to be Uncle Tim."
Gigi laughed, making a pure sound almost like music.
"Anyway, Dad said everyone was so proud of my uncle when he left. Even with the way people felt about the war, even though everyone worried about him, they were proud of him. They knew he'd do right by his country and his family."
Noah had been on the way to college when his father had told this story. Alone in the car, they'd had plenty of time to disclose secrets and fears and the things they'd been saving for the right time.
"Anyway, he went to Vietnam and came back home. When he got off the plane, this gorgeous woman came up to him. My uncle thinks, hey, this is great, this woman wants to flirt with the man in uniform. He opens his mouth to say something to this girl. And she spits in his face and then turns around and walks off."
He glanced up at Gigi, whose hand rested on her chest. Sorrow darkened her features.
"Dad said Uncle Tim wasn't the same after that. It was like someone had taken whatever he used to be and shattered it, and then he wasn't able to find all the pieces." Noah sighed. "When we went to visit him and my Aunt Joanie, they were always happy enough to see us. I could kind of see what my dad saw in him. But sometimes I'd look over at him when we were watching TV, and he'd be staring at the floor, almost like he wondered what happened to him. Just like that guy tonight."
