Here we go. I fill his glass again and put it in front of him. I swipe my card down the till and bring up his tab. “Nope, no ring.”
One of the barstools scrapes at the other end of the bar and I half-glance in that direction. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” I call before turning back to Old Dill. “Gonna pay this tab any time soon? The boss will kick my ass if it isn’t paid by the end of the week.”
“I’ll pay Saturday, darlin’. I promise. Friday is payday.”
“So pay on Friday.”
He laughs, my snarky tone skimming right over his head. “Pretty girl like you should have a ring on that finger.”
“Keep it up and I’ll think you’re offering, Dill.”
He laughs again and hands me a fifty. “Here. Take that off the bill.”
I give him a sickly sweet smile. “Payday on Friday my ass. And I told you before, I’m single and I’m staying that way.”
I take fifty off his tab and put the bill in the drawer of the cash register. Turning, I ask, “Sorry it took so long. What can I get you?”
“I’ll have a Blow Job, please.”
Every word is clipped and British, and I know before I look up that it’s Tyler who’s asking. The request causes goose pimples to coat my arms, and I meet his eyes. I lean against the bar and fold my arms across my chest.
“I bet you will,” I reply. “Unfortunately, we don’t serve cocktails at this bar. You’ll have to go upstairs for that.”
His rose-colored lips twitch. “Then I’ll have whatever you’ve got.”
“There are several things on offer tonight, but they might not be what you’re looking for.”
“I’m sure there’s something in this bar I’m looking for.” His eyes flash.
“Then you should probably look at the bar instead of the woman serving behind it.”
The twitch in his lips pulls them into a full-fledged smirk. “I’ll try, but I’m not promising anything.”
“Oh, isn’t that the problem,” I mutter, turning to serve another person.
Tyler’s eyes are on me the whole time, following every one of my movements as I pour three pints and hand them to the barely legal co-eds eyeing me up.
“Are you working all night?” one of them asks. He’s built and leaning his elbow on the bar so his bicep flexes.
“I am,” I smile at him flirtatiously.
He winks before turning away with his friends.
I hear a snort from my right and turn back to Tyler. “Have you decided what you’d like to drink tonight, sir?”
“Sir?” he murmurs, rubbing a thumb down his jaw. “Yes. I’ll have bottle of Budweiser, please.”
“Of course.” I walk to the other end of the bar and bend down to grab a bottle from the fridge. I remove the bottle cap and place the bottle in front of Tyler. “Two eighty, please.”
He hands me a five-dollar bill from between his fingers. I snatch it up, turn to the second till, swipe my card, and ring up his beer. I turn to hand him his change and his fingers brush mine as he takes it.
“Thank you,” he says in a low voice.
I nudge the register drawer shut with my hip. “You’re welcome.” I leave him smiling into the top of his bottle and return to Dill. “Another?”
He nods, eyeing Tyler. “Who’s that?”
“That’s the thorn in my side,” I quip, pulling down on the ale handle. “On the tab?”
Dill grunts a yes. “He bothering you, Liv darlin’?”
“Nah, not so much.” I shrug a shoulder. “He’s like one of those little flies you get in the summer. Gnats, is it? Like them, he just won’t go away.” I glance down the bar at Tyler and he grins.
“Bit of bug spray will get rid of those. Course, you’d need a baseball bat for a gnat the size of him.”
“Dill, honey, if it wouldn’t get me arrested, I would have done it before now.” I rap my hand on the bar and glance at the clock. Crap. The about-to-be-engaged couple’s champagne.
I spin and grab a bottle and two flutes. I carry them over to the table and set the glasses down. The girl looks at me with wide eyes, and I turn to the guy. He’s wearing a shy smile.
“Would you like me to pop the cork, sir?”
“In a moment.” He moves from his chair, and I step back.
Really? He’s going to make me stand here in front of him and hold a bottle of f**king champagne while he proposes to her?
Oh, yep. He’s on one knee. He is. Fantastic. Hello, Mr. Romance? I have a bar to tend to and customers to serve. Not to be rude, but could we hurry this up?
Seriously, though. A proposal in a bar. No dinner and they’re both wearing Seahawks jerseys. It’s not even football season.
“Pop the cork,” Tyler whispers in my ear as he passes.
When I turn, he’s heading for the men’s room. Giving my attention back to the couple in front of me, I notice that the ring is on her finger and she’s crying. Great. A crier. Everyone loves a crier.
“Congratulations,” I smile, popping the cork and pouring them two glasses. I turn away before I’m subjected to that phony linking-arm thing people do.
Barely Legal Co-Ed approaches the bar again when I’m drying out the inside of a glass. “Can I get another?”
Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I reply, “You sure can, honey. And for your friends?”
“If you don’t mind.”
Tyler takes his seat as I pour another three pints for Mr. Muscle over here. He watches us casually, but I can feel that there’s more to his gaze than just general interest.
I put the pints down in front of the young guy and ring up his order. “Seventy thirty, please.”
“There you go, gorgeous.” He hands me a ten-dollar bill and I take it. “How often do you work here?”
“Most days,” I reply vaguely. “How often do you come in here to pick up the bar staff?”
He laughs, but it does nothing for me, unlike Tyler’s quiet chuckle at the other end of the bar that somehow seems louder.
“I’m Baz,” College Guy says, holding out his hand for me to shake.
I put his change in his hand and lean forward. “I’m out of your league,” I whisper, pulling back with a small smile.
He looks at me, amused, before grabbing all three pints and going back to his friends. Tyler’s bottle is empty, so I grab it.