Caution is nowhere in my head when I taunt him in return. “Oh, I can do better than that.”
His lips curve into a nerve-racking smile. “I don’t doubt that one bit.”
Dragging my eyes and my attention away from him, I put all my concentration into making a good drink. It’s much more difficult than it should be. My eyes keep trying to stray to Cash.
As I’m rubbing the rim of the glass in salt, I forget and look up. Cash is singing along to a song about whistling and when the part comes for him to whistle, he puckers up his perfect mouth and does it right along with the beat.
I can’t help but stare. And, as if he doesn’t already have me flustered enough, when he stops whistling, my eyes climb back to his and he winks at me.
It’s the exact moment I know I’m in trouble. Big, big trouble.
Taryn pushes me to the side to slide a glass across the bar in front of Cash. It pulls me from my thrall. I pour my margarita, garnish it with a wedge of lime and a wedge of orange and offer it up as well.
He sips first Taryn’s drink then mine and then each one again, smacking his lips and savoring the flavors. I wonder if he’ll really pick the best drink, or if he’ll simply pick the one opposite the girl he’d rather see dance on the bar.
I realize there isn’t an outcome I’ll be happy with. If he chooses my drink as the best, I’ll wonder if it’s because he wants to see Taryn dance. Not that it should matter to me what he wants to see Taryn do.
But it does.
Dammit.
But then, if he chooses her drink, not only will her drink be supposedly better, but I’ll have to dance on the bar, which I really don’t want to do.
He nods and picks up my drink to finish it off. “We have a winner!” he says, pointing to me.
I feel relieved and victorious, but also strangely conflicted. Rather than look him in the eye, I remove the empty glass when Cash sets it down on the bar. My eyes move past Taryn who is smiling coyly at someone, I assume Cash.
“Good news, boys,” she yells happily. “I’m still gonna be making margaritas my way, and you’ll be getting some entertainment tonight. I call that a win-win.”
With a whoop, Taryn reaches back to flip on different music, choosing a very suggestive song that I have no doubts she’ll make good use of. When I see her climb up on the bar, I move to the opposite end to get drinks for the handful of people that aren’t watching her and cheering her on.
I do everything I can not to watch her or Cash. I don’t want to see his reaction. But when the cheers get louder, my eyes are drawn down the bar despite my resolve.
Taryn apparently jumped off the bar into Cash’s arms. He’s cradling her and she has her arms wrapped around his neck, very tightly it appears. She’s smiling like the cat who ate the canary—or maybe the cat who wants to eat the canary—and Cash is laughing.
Just as I’m looking back to the draft I’m pouring, I see Taryn pull Cash’s head down to hers and kiss him. And it’s not just a little peck. She looks like she’s trying to swallow his face. And he’s not resisting.
Cold liquid gushing over my fingers pulls me back to the task at hand. The pilsner is overflowing and beer is running down my wrist and into the spill tray. I jerk back and set the glass down, angrily flinging beer from my fingertips. I’m inordinately mad at myself for letting Taryn and Cash rile me up, and even more so for letting it affect me so blatantly.
I’m making furious swipes over the wet counter, cleaning up my mess, when Cash leans across the bar and speaks to me.
“I need you to stay after for just a few minutes tonight. Got some paperwork for you to fill out. Shouldn’t take long.”
I look up and meet his eyes. I want to scratch them out. And then spit in his face. And then curse him for being exactly what I thought he was.
A bad boy.
A playboy.
A heartbreaker.
But I also want to kiss him. And let him carry me up to the private room above us and put an end to the dull ache of desire that’s been plaguing me since the first night we met when I pulled his shirt over his head.
Dammit!
He smiles as he leans back. “Great drink, by the way.” He slaps the bar twice, like a pat on the back, and walks off toward the mysterious door at the back of the room.
That’s officially the point where my night takes a nose dive.
Strangely, what I’d thought would help Taryn’s disposition seems only to have made her more hostile. Unfortunately for her, my mood has plummeted, taking my patience and tolerance with it. So for the rest of the night, I give just as good as I get.
Even though I dread having to talk to Cash, I’m really relieved when the night is over. Taryn and I had graduated from thinly veiled remarks to her shoulder-bumping me as she passed, to me purposely backing into her while she was pouring a round of lemon drop shooters. From there, it escalated to her pushing a drink into the floor and splashing Bailey’s all up my legs. It made a horrendous sticky mess that took me far too long to clean up. At that point, I figured the only logical progression would be been hair pulling and vicious clawing as we roll around in the floor, growling at each other. And, call me crazy, but I’m thinking that kind of thing might be frowned upon in all places of business that do not include a Jello pit.
That’s when I stopped antagonizing her. Now, I’m just ready to go home.
As I’m closing up my end of the bar, I’m thankful I remember most of what Marco showed me. The things I’m a little fuzzy on I’m able to improvise by sneaking peeks down at what Taryn’s doing on her end. She’s just faster at it than I am. Obviously.
When she’s finished cleaning up her area, she practically runs around the bar and makes for the door at the back of the room. She doesn’t even glance in my direction, much less say anything to me. And I could care less, really. Her attitude isn’t the reason my stomach is in knots. My stomach is in knots because I think I have a very good idea of who’s doing whom tonight.
For that reason, I take my sweet time cleaning up. I’d rather die than interrupt them. In fact, I really wish he’d just forget about my paperwork and let me go home.
I’m berating myself for giving a guy like Cash a second thought when Taryn comes out of the room. I look up. At first glance, she seems…bothered. But when she sees me looking at her, she turns on her brightest smile, grabs her purse from behind the bar and walks merrily out the front door.
I want to paper cut her. On every square inch of her body. And then roll her in salt water.