I don’t have kids, and as long as my trusty IUD stays where it’s supposed to, that won’t ever change. But I’d imagine mothers love their kids almost as much as I love my bar. I mean, it’s my baby! I conceived it. I labored it. I birthed it. Plus side, HERS doesn’t pee on me and I don’t have to worry about sending it to therapy in twenty years.
Just financial ruin.
But, you know, can’t win everything.
“Well . . .” Paisley’s voice is closer and way too peppy for me to ignore her. “I hope you’ve worked on your silent treatment, because he’s coming over now.”
She claps once before shoving her hands into her pockets and skipping—yes, skipping—away from me.
Unlike my head that’s snapping back and forth between Paisley’s retreating form and Maxwell’s incoming hard body encased in perfect-fitting jeans and a black tee that might be too tight—but nobody is complaining—my feet are rooted to the tile beneath me.
Fuck.
“You can go back to brooding in the corner.” I keep my eyes focused on the task at hand, afraid that direct eye contact will cause a lust-colored haze to fog my wits.
“I’m not brooding.” Maxwell almost whispers the words. And since I still heard them, I take that to mean he got closer instead of retreating to the back of the bar like I’d hoped.
The limes are inside their new acrylic home, and Paisley—curse her helpfulness—wiped the bar down with such precision that it’s damn near sparkling. All of that is to say I have nothing to keep me from putting my focus on the man in front of me. I contemplate the “stop, drop, and roll” technique to escape, but I know that will blow my “play it cool” act. So on a deep sigh and a very dramatic neck roll, I look at Maxwell.
And fuck me.
Why does he have to be so freaking hot?
“You do brood. You sit in the corner looking all sad and depressed. I don’t know if you’re here to annoy me or to try to see how many women you can get to approach you every night.” He’s up to six tonight . . . not that I pay attention or anything.
“I just . . .” He shoves his hands in his pockets and glances around like someone will save him even though he’s the one who approached me. “I want to apologize.”
Flutters.
NO! Stop it, butterflies. We do not get warm and squishy over a long-overdue apology.
“Cool.” I reach for a glass and start making his old-fashioned. Once I’m finished, I push it across to Maxwell. “No need. You paid for the repairs. We’re square.”
“But—” he starts but is almost instantly interrupted by a brunette in cutoff shorts and a plaid button-up. I had no idea it was Dukes of Hazzard night.
“Aren’t you Maxwell Lewis?” She giggles even though literally nothing she said was funny.
I fight—and lose—the battle not to roll my eyes, and turn to leave. Even though I think I hate her, I make a note for Paisley to give Daisy Duke her next drink on the house for providing me with my out.
I try my hardest to keep my steps slow and steady, but once the door to my office is close enough, I do a little skip-hop and push the door open. And I swear, I only look back because of . . . whatever, never mind. I look back to see Maxwell. When I do, his focus directed at me and only me is enough to cause me to jump and trip into my office.
Smooth.
“You okay?” Paisley grabs my hand and pulls me off the ground.
“I mean . . . I just ate shit because a guy was looking at me, so I’ve been better.” My cheeks are on fire and I have no doubt I look like a tomato right about now.
“Oh shit.”
“Basically.” I wipe imaginary dirt off of my pants. “I’m probably going to spend the rest of the night hiding in my office of shame, but when you go out there, the girl flirting with Maxwell gets a drink on the house.”
Laughter dances in Paisley’s eyes and she bites her lip, no doubt trying to fight back the statement that could put her job in jeopardy. Luckily for me, because I hate interviews and hiring new people, she contains herself.
“Do you want me to pass her an origami-folded note with the drink?”
Never mind. She almost contains herself.
“I hate you.”
“You love me.” She shrugs and pushes the door open, blowing me a kiss before the door shuts behind her.
“Bitch,” I say to nobody, but feel better getting it out.
I take a moment and look around my office. My desk is littered with papers, pens, and personalized stationery I might not need but that I don’t regret spending too much on. There are too many coffee cups from Fresh in my trash can, and there may or may not be two opened bags of chocolate in my drawer.
But there are also pictures of me standing next to Marlee in my blush, floor-length bridesmaid dress and of me hugging Ace tight while he’s clutching the trophy from the soccer tournament he won.
HERS started as a business, but it became my family.
The door opens and startles me, causing me to almost lose my balance . . . again. I guess, unlike my friends, athletic coordination hasn’t been passed on to me by osmosis.
“What the hell, Pais?” I yell, blaming her for my inability to stay upright.
“It’s not origami, but it’s still a note!” she screams, bouncing from foot to foot.
I feel faint and queasy. “You did not give him a note.”
“I didn’t.” She waves the folded napkin in front of my face. “He gave you one after he paid his bill.”
I grab the note from her hand and toss it onto the pile of papers I have yet to get to.
Her jaw falls to the floor. “You’re not gonna read it?” she asks, her eyes never leaving the note.
“Maybe later.” I ignore the crestfallen look on her face and walk back into my Maxwell-free bar.
Now, if only he would get the fuck out of my head.
Four
Soon.
That’s it. The entire note. One fucking word.
What the hell?
That one word tainted my mind so hard, I messed up three drinks and two food orders before I tapped out.
But instead of hopping in my SUV—yes, I know I’m single and they are bad for the environment, but I’m a Denver native and when ski season comes around, it’s where I spend all my free time—I start the short walk to my dad’s house.
I didn’t tell him I was coming, but when I round the corner, the porch light is on. I would say it’s because he’s super thoughtful, which I guess is part of it, but mainly it’s because I’m a grown toddler and most nights I crash in my childhood bedroom instead of the condo across town I just had to have.