I didn’t care if this stranger was objectively the hottest man in the world. After tonight I had three nights off. Anyone making me work late my last shift prior to three nights off was a blobfish.
“Whatever.”
My voice must've hinted at my thoughts because Kaylee tore her attention from the man, her eyebrows raised expectantly. "Why do you always sound so irritated when there’s a hot guy? Why do you dislike hot guys?"
"Hot guys have hot guy problems, which are like first world problems on steroids," I mumbled.
"Come on, everyone likes hot guys. It's biological. There's nothing you can do about it. You have no choice."
I would've argued with her, told her that I had nothing against hot guys in general, but she made a sound of protest before I could speak.
"Abby.” Her eyes were full of sympathy. “Eventually you're going to have to date someone."
Ugh. Not this again!
“Do I, though?"
I’d tried dating. In fact, I’d even tried marriage. Everything about it was a disappointment, on so many levels. This topic was why Kaylee and I currently shared just a car instead of a car and an apartment.
"Yes.” She looked so earnest and concerned. “You can't let one bad experience—what? Eight? Nine years ago?—dictate the rest of your life."
"Can't I, though?" I tucked a drink menu under my arm.
"You can't. You must get back on the horse."
"Must I, though?” I tapped my chin.
"Yes you—" Finally recognizing my attempt at deflection, she snapped her mouth shut and gave me a flat look. "Your dense barrier of sass notwithstanding, you know getting out there, putting yourself out there, would be healthy."
“Why can’t you let me live my best life, Kaylee?” I tossed her words from earlier right back at her. “Maybe my best life is pulled pork and video games.” Legit, I loved both pulled pork and video games.
She scowled but her words were teasing, “This is a good time to tell you, I, and others, consider your contentment with life a personal attack.”
I laughed. "Here, let me go serve this hot guy real fast and then you can continue to beat this dead horse that you still insist I take for a ride."
Utilizing her cherry-snatching-ninja skills, she grabbed my wrist before I could move away. “Wait. Wait.” Her eyes darted to the end of the bar and then back to me, whispering, “What if, instead, you flirt with the hot guy?” Kaylee indicated to the man with her chin, like I wouldn’t know to whom she referred. The man’s presence felt like it inhabited one tenth of the available space in the bar, there was no missing him.
I blinked at her. “Why would I do that?”
She seemed to search my face. “If you flirt with him, I won't bring up dating again for—for . . . a month.”
Typical Kaylee. Life was one big bargaining session. She was only happy when she was negotiating or arguing.
"One flirting encounter buys me a month?"
"I promise." She drew a finger in the shape of a cross over her heart.
"Make it three months and we have a deal."
"Deal,” she said quickly, her eyes brighter, happier, like my agreement was a victory for her. “Three months. And maybe unbutton the top button of your—"
I twisted my arm from her grip. "I can flirt without showing my boobs."
"Yeah, but you have really nice boobs and they deserved to be admired by someone other than me."
“So noted.”
“And take off that ring!” she loud whispered.
Grunting, I did remove my grandmother’s diamond ring from my third left finger, my shield against handsy and aggressive patrons. But I did not adjust the buttons of my shirt as I slipped the antique ring onto the middle finger of my right hand and walked down the long galley to the giant stranger. If he was perturbed by my lack of attentiveness thus far, he showed no outward signs. The man's eyes were on the screen of his phone, his arms braced on top of the bar, dress shirt shirtsleeves rolled up, broadcasting some seriously tantalizing forearm action.
Hmm. Maybe I should’ve unbuttoned the first few buttons of my shirt.
Exposed male forearms, in my opinion, were the equivalent of exposed female cleavage. Tits for that, er, tat. I meant, Tit for Tat. Right.
"Hey, what can I get you?" I asked, placing a drink menu and the square napkin on the bar while studying what I could see of his features.
Dark blue or dark gray shirt, the top three buttons undone, tie loose and slightly askew to one side, a bright white undershirt beneath. He’d pulled off a coat and it hung on the back of his stool. His hair was short on the sides, longer on the top, and either light brown or dark blonde. The color was impossible to tell given the dimness of the room and the reddish glow of the Christmas lights decorating the liquor shelf behind me.
He had a nice forehead, what I could see of it, but his face and focus remained fastened to the screen of his phone as he responded in a monotone, "Beer. Amber. Whatever you've got on tap, please."
"Sure thing. You want a pint or--"
"Pint is fine, thanks."
Polite. I'd say he had a nice voice except it remained monotone.
Stepping to the side, I grabbed a pint glass and positioned it under the tap of our most popular amber.
Somewhere to my right I heard the distinct and obnoxious sound of Kaylee clearing her throat, an Uh—ahem—ahem—ahem. Sliding my gaze to the side, I found her eyes wide with meaning. Sensing her dissatisfaction with my lack of flirting, I shrugged, like What can I do?
She waved an exasperated hand toward her chest, then the big guy, her eyebrows high arches, and then tugged at the neck of her already lowcut top, mouthing a word that looked like ‘buttons’ but it might have been ‘boobs.’
I pressed my lips together, removing my eyes from hers. Again, what could I do? The guy was into his phone way more than the idea of flirting with a female bartender. I wasn't currently, and never had been, in the habit of crowbarring men into noticing me. Live and let live, I say!
The glass filled, I placed it on the napkin near his elbow. "You want to start a tab?"
"Please." Still without looking up, he set down his phone, pulled out his wallet, and placed a credit card and his driver's license on top of the bar. I swiped up both, my brain telling me to look at his birthdate even as my eyes strayed to his photo and the name beneath it.
"Be right b—ba—ack." My mouth fell open as I stuttered, ending my sentence with a silent gasp, my eyes bolting to the stranger who wasn’t a stranger at all. I gaped, stupefied, caught within a snare I’d fashioned years and years ago.
Oh dear Lord in heaven.
Rex.
I gaped. I gaped and gaped and gaped, stared and stared and stared, my mind reeling. But how? And when? And how? And—
“Uh ahem, uh ahem, UH ahem.”
Kaylee’s obnoxious throat clearing snapped me out of my stupor and I quickly turned before Rex spotted my shock-trance. I stared blankly, not sure what to do next, not remembering whether I was coming or going, my breath tight in my lungs, my heart racing. Hells bells.
Rex McMurtry.
Yes, before you ask, he was that Rex McMurtry, the star defensive end for the Chicago Squalls, philanthropist, and sexiest man alive according to all the lists. Here. In my bar. Technically it wasn't my bar, but it kinda was my bar because I'd worked here since my junior year of high school as a dishwasher, then busser, then server, now bartender. Therefore, I liked to think of it as my bar.