“Same. And I offer a boy-free zone.”
“Now that, I may definitely need soon.”
I miss her so much already, but I just have to keep my focus.
“Elle, help Ophelia man the bar for me will ya, gorgeous?” I look over at my boss, Knox—twenty-nine, tall, rugged, dark hair and eyes, and a fucking British accent. All the girls who work here seek this fucker out like he’s the last drink in the Sahara.
And he is fucking delicious, don’t get me wrong. But he knows it.
He adds a wink for good measure, knowing, like all the other pathetic hussies around, I’ll do what he wants.
Sad really, but what are you gonna do?
I’ll never forget when I came into the bar, looking for a job when I turned twenty-one, I may have actually drooled during my interview. But as usual, there’s no spark there, no real connection. Occasional flirting, but nothing real.
And I’m more than okay with that.
“God, when in the hell is he going to take me up on my offer?”
I look over at Ophelia, the petite, gorgeous, auburn-haired beauty who’s been working here a year longer than me. I really like her, which is saying something for me. “You mean to let him take you to his office and defile the hell out of you?”
She laughs at that, handing a customer their drink. “God, yes.” She watches him as he makes the rounds through the crowded bar, flashing his white smile and working the thirsty bitches in the bar.
It’s a Wednesday night, but the bar is flooded with students celebrating their last night of freedom before classes start tomorrow. That, coupled with the drink specials, has led to a busy night. I was supposed to be off by eleven, but Knox asked me to stay until midnight, and I didn’t pass up the extra money.
Thirty more minutes and I can head upstairs to my apartment, maybe get in a chapter or two before passing out or staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the bar to close at two and quiet down.
“Well, holy shit. Screw Knox.” My head turns toward Ophelia. The girl is in heat, fanning herself as she zeroes in on her prey. “This guy looks like a sure thing.”
I roll my eyes. Like I said, I like Ophelia, but she is relentless, always looking for her next “relationship,” and I use that word lightly, considering she dated the last guy for all of six days.
But honestly, to each their own. I say do what makes you happy. I laugh and look up just as the next love of Ophelia’s life approaches the bar. My heart jumps in my throat as I’m met with cold, icy blue eyes.
Ophelia tosses her hair over her shoulder, throwing her shoulders back and putting forward her impressive double-D assets but looks over at me with curiosity when I groan. “No.”
Blake just smirks, zoning in on me and missing Ophelia’s stacked cleavage. “Elle.”
Ophelia looks at me with eager questioning. “You know him?”
“No.” My eyes stay trained on the asshole from the diner this morning, the man who’s now living with my best friend.
Three regulars at the end of the bar struggle to get Ophelia’s attention, and she reluctantly leaves us to tend to them, eying me suspiciously as she walks away.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Blake isn’t bothered in the slightest by my irritated tone. In fact, he looks amused as he takes a seat on the bar stool in front of me. “Whiskey sounds good. Give me the best you’ve got.” He lays down a black credit card on the bar.
I turn and pour our most expensive whiskey, placing it in front of him.
His right eyebrow lifts as he eyes me with suspicion, his large hand gripping the drink. “You aren’t going to give me shit?”
“Why would I give you shit about ordering a drink?”
He takes a sip of brown liquor. “Give your little friend and Brandon some time, they’ll convince you I need rehab.”
I know from Gabby that Brandon and Blake go way back, having met in rehab. But now, Blake still does what he wants while Brandon is trying like hell to stay sober. Still, this guy isn’t going to listen to me. I don’t know him. “That’s really not my problem.”
He chuckles at that as he tosses the drink back and then gestures for another.
Jesus.
I pour him another drink. “If you puke, you’re cleaning it up.”
He’s still wearing the same expensive jeans and wristwatch, but he’s changed out of the white polo and into a black button-down, and I have to say black seems to suit his soul far better. “I never puke.”
“Body’s used to being abused, huh?”
He takes a quiet sip as his eyes scan the crowded bar, ignoring my question before his icy blues meet my eyes. “So, you have two jobs, and you’re a student?”
“Lots of students have jobs.”
I’m not sure this guy has had a job in his life. I get tired of people pointing out how much I work. “Damn, living the dream.”
He thinks his sarcasm is going to bother me? “Absolutely. There are a lot of people who would kill to be this fortunate.”
He scoffs loudly into his drink as he shakes his head. “You think this is lucky? Working your ass off just to go to college?”
I lean over the bar, getting into his privileged, insanely and unfairly handsome face. “Absolutely. It means more to me because I’ve had to work for it.”
He’s studying me too closely, and I want to pull away, but I don’t back down. I won’t let him see how uncomfortable I am. “Fucking crazy.”
“You’re right. It’s insane to work my ass off for my education, the thing that will lead me to a career. I mean, look at you.” I pull back, wiping the bar to get away from the expensive cologne, that’s far too intoxicating, mixed with the snarl on his full lips. “You’re someone who’s always had everything handed to him.” My eyes meet his. “And you’re miserable.”
It’s an assumption. I barely know him, but I can feel it. He’s the type who beats others down because he’s not happy. A true bully.
His eyes slide down the bar to Ophelia, who’s now working her magic on two guys I would classify as shy and who look like they might pass out as she flirts shamelessly.
Get your tips, girl.
“See, now she’s having a good time. I don’t feel sorry for her.”
I narrow my eyes in his direction and ignore his jab. “Exactly how long are you going to be here?”
His shoulders shrug as he looks around the room on the prowl. “I’m not sure. This place could be exactly what I need.”
Of course, he’s here for easy. I don’t know why, but this man irks me like none other. I deal with entitled, grabby pricks every single day. Thirty-cent tips, people calling me “sweetheart” and “darlin’,” assholes tossing cash at me and propositioning me. But it’s becoming obvious that no one gets under my skin like Blake.
“Well, enjoy. Maybe you’ll contract a fun, new STD.”
“Nothing penicillin can’t fix.”
I cringe, and he smirks slyly, running his hand through his almost too perfect hair. It looks softer than mine.
I shake that thought off as Knox walks over to me, one hand squeezing my shoulder. “Thanks for staying later tonight. It’s starting to die down now. I think you can probably head out.”